


Fall

by wynniethepooh



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dystopia, F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-25
Updated: 2013-02-10
Packaged: 2017-11-22 10:44:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 29
Words: 70,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/608969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wynniethepooh/pseuds/wynniethepooh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"When the lines blur and fall, people become animals, heaven becomes hell, worlds die in a ball of gas and a single word can mean so much more."<br/>America is no longer America, it is run by a vicious dictator, and the memories of our grandfathers have almost been erased with time. But a boy falls in love with another, a girl with two fathers has no idea where she comes from, and an illegitimate baby must be protected from those who wish to destroy her.<br/>Six kids can't save the world, but they might just be able to save their own lives.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this piece for NaNoWriMo in 2011, and it was a great joy to write! It was one of the longest pieces I've ever completed (and still is, I think, though I'm working on it) and then I've posted it since on fanfiction.net but I thought I should post it here as well! Admittedly, I did write this in everyone going crazy about Dystopias, but I hadn't read or watched Hunger Games at the time, promise! I hope you enjoy this piece and thanks!

**Prologue**

_‘Long is the way,_  
 _And hard, that out of hell leads up to light.’  
_ _-John Milton, ‘Paradise Lost’_

The truck rumbled past, grinding its gears harshly at the traffic lights before continuing on. Inside the maintenance shaft, Quinn reached for Beth’s hand, holding her close. The vehicle stormed past, but from where Noah was stationed with just his eyes above the entrance, he gave a shaky nod.

‘Looked like a farmer,’ he whispered.

The driver of the truck had indeed been a farmer, but it wasn’t the truck that he was now worried about.

‘But there’s two black cars at the far end. They have tinted windows, so I can’t see in, but they don’t have number plates and they look legit.’

Quinn bit her lip and moved Beth onto her lap. ‘We have no communication with the others, so we can’t let them know,’ she murmured softly. ‘I guess the best we can do is hope they’re onto it. They got the last ones, didn’t they?’

He nodded. ‘Yeah, that’s kind of what I’m worried about though.’ He collapsed back down beside the girl and her daughter, positioning his arm so it looped around Quinn, but didn’t touch her. She looked at his arm warily, but didn’t move away.

‘What do you mean?’ she said instead.

‘I mean, now that two cars have been derailed and removed of their surveillance and communications systems, I’m sure it appeared on the other Officers’ radars. I mean, wouldn’t you be paying attention to all your patrols if there was a band of dangerous criminals on the run?’

‘We’re not dangerous criminals,’ she warned.

‘Fugitives, then. Whatever.’ Noah shrugged, reaching out to run a hand through the hair of the small girl in Quinn’s lap. ‘I’m just- I have this feeling that this patrol might be forewarned.’

Quinn sighed heavily, moving her head as her daughter reached up with a tiny hand to press it into her cheek. ‘Yeah, I know. I’m feeling it too.’

‘You’re worried about them,’ he said. It was a statement, not a question, but she answered it anyway. 

‘Yeah.’

She turned her head downcast, and with only the slightest look of hesitation, he lifted the arm behind her back, wrapping it tight around her shoulders and pulling his small family into a hug. ‘You’re a beautiful mother, Quinn,’ he whispered.

‘And you’re an asshole of a father,’ she replied, but there was no bite to it.

‘I know.’

And in that moment - that beautiful, peaceful serene moment that Noah wished he could capture and hold onto for a long time, just him and Quinn and Beth - there came a loud rumble, louder than the truck and closer to their maintenance shaft. And then it stopped.

Quinn turned her head to look at him, eyes blown wide with shock, and he stepped away, pulling his arm back to claim it as his own. He reached the edge of the shaft and peered over the end, observing the tunnel. 

Just one tunnel over, peering over the identical ledge to the one Noah was now resting the bridge of his nose against, was a team of Officers. They moved with practice and ease, as if they knew what they were searching for, and they knew it was just a matter of time until they found it.

He ducked back down behind the protective wall and slid backwards on his hands and knees until he was beside Quinn again.

‘They’re looking for us,’ he whispered.

‘What?’

‘They’re in the next tunnel up, looking for us. Is there anywhere we can hide?’

She shook her head fearfully, her voice cracking as she spoke in the hurried whisper they had become accustomed to. ‘We _are_ hiding.’

‘Not anymore,’ he replied, and reached for Beth, hauling her into his arms and over his shoulder. ‘Now we’re sitting ducks.’

And then the worst thing that could ever happen, happened. It was to be expected, and at every turn that he had been wary of it, of the little girl now flung carefully over Noah’s shoulder. But the panic had made him careless, and he had forgot to check that she was alright, that she was comfortable and happy. And that she wasn’t aware of how much danger they were in.

Because now the girl cried, and it wasn’t a gentle cascade of tears down her cheeks. It was a loud, screeching bawl.

And somewhere, just outside their maintenance shaft, a male voice called, ‘I hear it! I hear the kid!’

And all hell broke loose.


	2. Chapter One

**Chapter One**

_‘Just as seeing Heaven’s light gave him an awareness of God’s presence in all things in the mortal plane, so it has made him aware of God’s absence in all things Hell.’  
_ _-Ted Chiang, ‘Hell Is the Absence of God’_

 

Four weeks earlier…

 

The hallway was crowded with figures, but each walked evenly behind the other, maintaining his or her place in line until the last moment, when they slipped from it and towards their locker, placing their books inside. They left the line for only moments, perhaps rolling their shoulders to release some of the tension against their uniform of navy blue polo shirts, before joining the line again, grim expressions never leaving their faces.

The assembly had been called. Every day, the Leaders made it seem as if it was a big deal, another assembly. Like they didn’t call one every day. They tried to make it a novelty, but the sheer overuse and obvious _control_ gained by these assemblies for their own purposes, made every student in the building not only dread it, but _fear_ it. 

Because the assembly meant there was something new to learn, another rule to add to the long list already engrained into everyone’s mind. Or it meant somebody had done something against the rules, and they were going to be punished. And the rules changed so often, that no one was ever certain it wouldn’t be them until the assembly was over and they were heading back to their lockers again in their perfect lines, and off to their final class of the day.

This assembly proved to be one of the punishment type. 

Kurt sat neatly in his seat, watching out of the corner of his eye as the short, dark haired girl whose name was Rachel, sat down beside him. He didn’t know her very well, only that she was in his year, and must have been born before or after him, because she was always next to him during lines, or assembly, or during classes. 

But they hadn’t talked before. 

‘Hey.’ That was definitely unexpected, and Kurt almost turned his head in surprise but caught himself at the last moment. _Always look ahead during assemblies._

‘What are you doing?’ he whispered out of the corner of his mouth.

‘What do you mean?’ she returned.

‘Why are you talking? It’s assembly!’

She smiled brightly, a look that was wanted by many of the Leaders, but very rarely achieved. You had to be very strong-willed to remain smiling in the face of the Regime. Sometimes, at home, Kurt would allow himself a meek grin, and when he met Blaine for coffee, he would occaisonally break a true smile. But not at school. Never at school.

‘I heard a rumour.’ Those were the next words out of Rachel’s mouth, and the joy with which she whispered them made Kurt frown darkly. 

‘What kind of rumour?’

She glanced at him at the corner of her eye, him only just catching the gesture. ‘A rumour about you.’

Kurt blanched. What had she heard? Was she a spy for the Leaders? Or worse, for the Officers? Was she trying to make him confess to a crime that he knew he had committed, but really wished he didn’t have to?

Or was she like him?

‘It’s okay,’ she whispered again, watching as the last students piled into the corridor, the small freshmen with shiny faces and not enough life experience to be sitting anywhere but in the front rows, where the Leaders could watch over them. ‘My dads are like you.’

_Dads?_

He didn’t know what to think, what to do. How did a girl his age have two _dads?_ How did they get away with it? And more than anything, how was she a Legal?

‘How did they manage it?’ he whispered softly. ‘With you?’

‘ _Silence!’_ a loud voice rang out and Kurt pressed his lips together tightly, stiffening. The assembly was starting, and even the slightest whisper would be easily heard in the caverning silence. There was no longer the din of many footsteps. The only noise was the slow clack of heeled boots against the wooden stage, as Royal, the head Leader, took his place in front of the microphone. It was hardly needed.

Sometimes, Kurt wondered how Royal had gotten his name. It wasn’t a common name, and it stood out, especially against the other Leaders. But it worked to his advantage. Whenever anyone spoke of Royal, no one could pretend they didn’t know who they meant.

‘Students,’ he said in his booming voice, the microphone crackling slightly. ‘There has been a disobedience.’

* * *

 

In another school, a few hours away, Blaine was at his locker, pushing his books in carefully and withdrawing a small, spiral bound notebook. He pushed it carefully into his shoulder bag, between his Rule book and his French notebook, before closing his locker and turning to Jeff, who stood at the locker beside him.

‘Did you hear?’ he whispered softly, running his eyes along the corridor for Leaders. Students milled around, chatting among themselves, but there were no Leaders in sight. 

‘No, Blaine. I didn’t. What is it?’

‘I have one more F to go and I’m being downgraded!’ He said it with a grin in his words, holding up a hand for Jeff to high five it. The blonde just looked at him, staring. 

‘Are you insane?’

‘No?’

Jeff grabbed his shoulder turning him around so they were both facing the boy’s locker before hissing venomously, ‘Have you _seen_ what the kids that come out of that school are like? 3rd Level Education centres are _bad,_ man. They have no control over their own lives, they live like automatons. Here, at least, you can talk without fear of getting detention, or something worse.’

Blaine shot him a look. ‘Then why are you whispering?’

Jeff groaned, but only grabbed a final book from his locker and closed it, walking with Blaine down the corridor and towards their next class. ‘All I’m saying is,’ he said, voice now back at a normal level. ‘It’s not worth it.’

‘Love isn’t worth it?’ Blaine’s tone was incredulous.

Jeff shook his head. ‘Not when that’s the outcome.’

* * *

 

The room broke into hubbub. In the seat beside Kurt, Rachel stiffened. 

Under the cover of hushed whispers, Kurt nudged her side. ‘Do you know something?’

She blanched, shaking her head. ‘I hope not.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean, I haven’t done anything lately, but they might have found out. But how I could be blamed for that, I don’t know. I mean, it wasn’t me, it was my parents, but still-’

‘Rachel, shut up,’ he hissed and she fell silent, curling into herself and watching dead ahead as Royal scanned the crowd.

‘One of you,’ he said in his booming voice, ‘has broken the Rules. She is to be punished, in front of you all, as an example as to what happens when you do not comply with our standards.’

And from behind him, two Officers shoved forward a small girl, only a freshman. Rachel heaved a sigh of relief.

‘I- I didn’t do anything!’ the girl cried, her body bowing in half as tears streamed down her face. ‘It wasn’t my fault! It wasn’t me!’

Royal raised a hand, holding it above her head and brought it down with a loud slap. The girl’s cry made no words. It was only a sob of desperation, asking for someone, anyone to help her.

But the crowded hall stayed silent, only watching with bated breath as the Leader’s hand fell again and again. Their eyes were focused on the ring that wrapped his finger, that wrapped the middle finger of every Leader, marking them as part of the Regime. It collided with the girl’s skull, drawing blood.

And then it stopped. She was grasped by the wrists and pulled backwards, off the stage, as she swayed. Her eyes were glazed over and her mouth formed soundless words. _Help me. Save me. Protect me._

Kurt’s gut wrenched for her, but he could do nothing. To stand up was to condemn yourself to the same fate.

‘That is all,’ came Royal’s calm voice, and the school rose as one, stepping in organised lines down the tiered seating and towards the lockers again. 

From behind Kurt, Rachel whispered softly, just loud enough that he could hear. ‘We won’t see her again.’

* * *

 

Blaine sat at his desk, his knees jumping. They danced against the wood of the table, thudding lightly as the teacher paced between the students, handing back marks.

‘I’m disappointed in a lot of you on this research paper,’ he said as he gave Jeff back his mark. ‘There were a lot of Fs. And trust me, these marks have already been submitted, so don’t think you can change them. Just remember, keep your marks up, otherwise you run the risk of being downgraded.’

He placed Blaine’s paper in front of him, leaning down to murmur, ‘I think you could have done better than this, Blaine.’ 

At the top of the page was a large, red F. 

Blaine ducked his head, trying to act humble and ashamed, but inside he was soaring. He had an F! He’d be downgraded! He was heading to William McKinley 3rd Level! He was heading to _Kurt._

‘Yes, sir,’ he murmured. ‘Sorry, sir.’

The teacher passed on, moving behind him and Jeff turned his head, raising an eyebrow. At the top of _his_ paper, was a gleaming green A. A passing mark. He wasn’t heading anywhere any time soon.

But Blaine grinned at him, holding up three fingers. 

He was on his way.

* * *

 

At McKinley 3rd Level, the lunch period was the most relaxed time of the day. Students were allowed to talk and discuss whatever they wanted. Within limits.

Kurt normally sat at a table with some of the girls in his year level, but a good few spots away from him in lines. Normally, at lunch, he avoided Rachel at all costs. But this lunch time, he was interested. 

He was hoping that under the cover of noise provided by the cafeteria, he’d be able to question her about what she meant by “rumours”. And why she had paled so much when Royal had called the girl out for disobedience.

He sat down at the table, shifting the seat slightly to put his knees against the edge of the table and his toes on the edge of the chair. Rachel settled herself beside him and they waited in silence, waiting for the third and final seat to be filled. They didn’t want to be surprised if someone sat down during their conversation.

‘Can I sit here?’ 

The girl’s voice was meek and she looked between Kurt and Rachel as if hoping they would say yes. Quinn, Kurt thought her name was, and he could only remember because she’d had to take a lot of time off the year before having been sick with something contagious and unable to leave the house. 

Her short blonde hair hung in a bob against her cheeks, curling only slightly at the bottom. She looked like she would be beautiful on the weekends, when the navy polo shirts could be removed, and natural figures shown. Kurt could almost imagine her in a bright skirt, perhaps a yellow or red, with a smile on her face.

‘Sure,’ he said, but even as he did so, Rachel shot him a look. It seemed to ask _why,_ but with also a hint of _she’ll turn us in._

He shook his head almost imperceptibly. _It will be fine._

‘Quinn, right?’ he said, motioning to the blonde. She nodded carefully, lifting the apple on her food tray to her lips.

‘You were away last year? Sick?’

She nodded but there was a hesitancy in that nod, as if there was more to the story that just sick. Kurt picked up on it, raising an eyebrow in her direction.

‘How horrible, not seeing anyone for six months. That’s so horrible. But at least you’re back at school now, right?’

She nodded again, her eyes slightly sad and downcast, and he shot her a smile. They could trust her. She wouldn’t tell anything she heard at that table.

‘When you said rumour earlier, Rachel,’ Kurt said, turning to the girl beside him, ‘what were you referring to?’

She shot Quinn a glance but continued, carefully choosing her words so that anything that was overheard would not place blame on either of them. ‘I was talking about your friendship with one Blaine, who you see regularly at the coffee shop off Main St. I mean, it _is_ pretty controversial, him being from a 2nd Level after all.’

Kurt smiled, nodding, hoping she would pick up the reply to the unspoken message she had sent. _You’re gay._

‘Blaine’s fun. He also has good taste in coffee. He’s coming round for dinner as a matter of fact. He wanted to see a movie that we own.’

‘Oh,’ Quinn said, chiming up for the first time, ‘that sounds fun! I haven’t seen any good movies in a long time, what one is it?’

Kurt named the first thing that came to his mind. ‘ _The Sound of Music._ It’s incredibly old, but it has good music, and I have it on good authority that it was a favourite of my mother’s.’

This was true. Kurt had been named after the young boy who always seemed to be forgotten by Maria.

‘Oh, that’s sweet,’ Quinn smiled. ‘I love things with meaning like that. You don’t seem to find much of it around nowadays.’

Kurt nodded, glancing at Rachel out of the corner of his eye, who was staring between them, almost dumbstruck. 

‘You were at the assembly?’ Quinn asked, motioning to Rachel. ‘The girl who got taken for disobedience?’

Rachel nodded, pressing her lips tight together. ‘It was horrible,’ she muttered.

‘Oh, I agree,’ the girl replied. ‘I personally believe that if the Leaders are going to punish people, they shouldn’t do it in full view of the whole school. That’s just cruel.’ She had leaned closer to them across the table and lowered her voice. ‘Personally, I’m just glad it doesn’t happen too often. Why does no one stand up to them?’

And in that moment, Kurt knew he had been right. Because Quinn was like them. Quinn didn’t believe in the Regime. Something had happened during that six month time that had left Quinn faithless in the system. 

‘Do you worry sometimes,’ he whispered carefully, glancing around them to check that no one was looking, ‘that you could be next? It’s so impossible to tell, and they change the Rules so often that I always worry I’ll break one without knowing.’

Quinn nodded. ‘All the time.’

And then she leaned back in her chair, biting into her apple again. She watched Kurt carefully, as if she was weighing him up, but he’d already got her measure. She was like them. Like Rachel, with her two dads - a surprising thing, if ever Kurt had heard one - and his own issues with Blaine. She had a secret too, something that she could get into a lot of trouble for.

And it had happened during those six months.


	3. Chapter Two

**Chapter Two**

_'Parents of golden dreams, Romance!  
_ _Auspicious queen of childish joys,  
_ _Who lead’st along, in airy dance,  
_ _Thy votive train of girls and boys.’  
_ _-Lord Byron, ‘To Romance’_

Shadows were curling in the room, against the closed curtains and looping around the small lamp. The glow from it was yellow, turned even darker by the dusky pink lampshade. On the large double bed, sat a girl, long blonde hair hung over her shoulder as her best friend tied it into a neat plait.

‘Brittany?’ the friend asked. Her name was Santana, and her dark latino skin seemed to sit almost harshly against the pink bedspread, but accompanied Brittany’s own skin easily. Her own dark hair was already pulled into a braid, starting at the very top of her forehead and trailing in creative loops on her crown before it settled at the nape of her neck.

‘Yeah?’ 

‘Do you ever think about us?’

The blonde frowned, turning her head slightly as Santana slipped the last loop of the hair tie over the end of the plait. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean,’ she said with a sigh, ‘about us. _Us,_ us.’

Brittany’s eyebrows furrowed and she looked her best friend up and down. They had shed their navy polo shirts for form fitting tanks and jeans, and Santana, for one, felt much more comfortable.

She had a loathing for the uniform, the way it hung like a sheet, and even when she accidentally on purpose managed to spill her whole drink bottle on it, it still refused to cling. She wanted to show off her figure, but she could never manage it with the stupid navy polo. 

But now, in the comfort of Brittany’s room, with the pink wallpaper, and the pink bedspread, and the stupid pink lamp, she could wear whatever she wanted. And so she did, mixing comfort and revealing. 

Her mother, while she was on her way out the door, asked her why she was wearing the low cut top, revealing just the top of the lace cup of her bra. Her reply was, ‘I don’t know who I might run into on the way to Britt’s.’

But now that she was here, she knew the real answer. She’d always known the real answer. She dressed up after school, when she was headed to Brittany’s house, _for_ Brittany.

Brittany shook her head, twisting away from Santana and leaning against her pillow. ‘Why would I think about us? You never think about us. You only think about you and your stupid reputation.’

She raised her hands in the air with exasperation. ‘What reputation? All I am is another government drone, like everybody at that damn school. I have boobs but can I show them? No. My only reputation comes from the guys I date. And you think _that’s_ a good reputation?’

Brittany shook her head. ‘You care more about them than you care about me.’

‘What?’

‘You’ll tell everyone about them, but you won’t tell them about _us.’_

‘Because it’s _against the Rules.’_

The blonde let out a long breath and held out her hand for Santana to take, hauling her up to lay beside her. It was a position they were familiar with, and the latino curled up into Brittany, resting her head against her friends shoulder.

‘I love you, Sanny, you know that.’

‘Mm.’ 

It didn’t mean that it didn’t hurt when Brittany accused her of ignoring their relationship. She wished she didn’t have to pretend it didn’t exist. She wished that she could walk through school holding Brittany’s hand and kiss her during lunch time like she sometimes did with her boyfriends, and that none of the Leaders would bat an eyelid.

But she knew they would jump on it. Another disobedience. And she didn’t want to end up like the girl that had been beaten on stage that afternoon.

‘Don’t you ever worry about the Regime, Britt?’

‘What is there to worry about?’

Santana’s breath caught in her throat. ‘Because you and I can never tell the world we love each other? Because we’d be taken away if we even _tried.’_

‘Sanny, you know I love boys too. I love you, and I’d miss you, but I can be with Artie, or one of the other guys. It’s not the end of the world.’

Santana scowled. ‘So I’m not allowed to go out with guys, but you are?’

‘Of course. I don’t tell you you’re the only one I love. That makes it alright.’

She shook her head. ‘How?’

‘Because you always tell me that I am the only one you love, that none of those boys compare. And then you still go out with them. Do you know how that feels?’

Santana bit her lip angrily and leaned away, sitting up and away from Brittany’s touch. ‘Do you know how it feels when you tell me that you’d happily be with a guy, just because the Regime says so? Brittany, you’re _supposed_ to tell me I’m better than them! That you love me more!’

The blonde’s voice was small when she replied. ‘But I don’t.’

And Santana slid backwards off the bed, ripping the hair tie from the end of her hair and undoing the plat with vicious, shaking fingers. As it fell it cascaded across her shoulders, the beautiful detail of the braid disappearing angrily. Brittany could only watch in horror.

‘Santana!’

But the girl was grabbing her bag off the floor and pulling it across her shoulders. ‘I’m going.’

And she was gone.

* * *

 

‘I’m getting downgraded!’ Blaine’s voice was filled with joy as he crushed Kurt to him, just inside the doorway of Kurt’s house. His arms gripped around the taller boy’s waist, and he managed to lift him into the air spinning him around in a circle. ‘I’m coming to McKinley!’

‘Blaine! Blaine!’ Kurt sputtered, pushing with his hands against his boyfriend’s shoulders to get him to put him down. Because that was what they were, no matter how well they hid it. They were boyfriends.

‘I’m coming to McKinley, and I’ll get to see you all the time!’

Kurt shook his head, but his mouth didn’t know whether to curl into a smile or a frown. He grabbed Blaine’s hand and tugged him into the living room, pulling him down onto the couch next to him. ‘McKinley isn’t like you think it is, Blaine,’ he said softly.

That calmed the younger boy. ‘What do you mean?’

Kurt shook his head sadly. ‘You’re used to Dalton. Dalton has freedom. You’re allowed to walk around the corridors by yourself, sit where you want during class, and even pick some of your own subjects.’

‘Yeah?’

‘We don’t have that freedom at McKinley. I’ve told you this, Blaine. I’ve told you shouldn’t downgrade yourself.’

Blaine frowned, and his eyebrows curled up, melding together into a thick line. ‘Do you not want me at McKinley?’

Kurt sighed and gripped Blaine’s hand, pulling it towards him and laying a gentle kiss in the crook between his thumb and forefinger. ‘It doesn’t take much to get downgraded,’ he whispered. ‘But it’s impossible to get yourself back up.’

‘I did this for you, Kurt.’

‘I know, and I appreciate it.’ He truly did. He just wished that Blaine would understand the mistake he’d made. ‘But you’re a junior, and I’m a senior. We won’t have the same classes, we won’t even be allowed anywhere near each other in the hallways. We’ll be in different spots during assemblies, and the only time I’ll ever see you is during lunch hour.’

Blaine let in a shaky breath, letting the warm, heated air slide up his nose. ‘Do you think it was a bad decision?’ His eyes were dark and worried, and Kurt let a hand slip up to cup Blaine’s cheek.

‘I think it was loyal, and brave, and loving, and it means the world to me.’ He pressed their foreheads together smiling. ‘I just wish you didn’t have to do it.’

 

In another part of the house, Rachel was leaning against the back of her boyfriend’s bed, carefully smoothing down the skirt of the dress she had changed into after school.

‘Finn,’ she said slowly, shooting him a glance. ‘Do you- what do you think of Kurt and Blaine?’

Finn was Kurt’s brother - well, so much that a brother could be when there was no biological relation between them, just a mother and a father who had both been widowed when Finn and Kurt were young - and he glanced at the open doorway, down towards the stairs and the living room where he knew the pair was. ‘I think they’re looking to get themselves into trouble.’

‘But isn’t it romantic? Being in love despite the fact that it’s against the Rules?’

Finn scowled. ‘The Rules are there for a reason, Rachel.’ He reached into his wardrobe, pulling out a clean t-shirt and pulling it over his head. ‘How come you know so much about Kurt and Blaine suddenly anyway? I thought you’d never talked to Kurt before.’

‘I’d talked to him,’ she said haughtily, scowling. ‘We’re in line next to each other, Finn. We just weren’t close. But you let slip about Blaine the other day, and I wanted to ask him if it was true. We sat together at lunch.’

‘You went and asked him? Just like that? About something that could get both him _and_ Blaine taken out of their own families? Out of their own towns?’ Finn sat down on the edge of the bed, as far from Rachel as he could get without being rude. 

‘You don’t seem to have any problems loudly discussing the fact that your stepbrother is gay.’

‘I told _you,_ Rachel. That was it. And it was by accident.’

‘Exactly.’ She leaned her head back against the wall, hitting it. ‘By accident. How many other people could you tell by accident? A whole heap, I’m sure.’

Finn groaned. ‘It’s not an issue.’

‘Yes, it _is.’_

 _‘_ Why does it mean so much to you?’ 

Rachel bit her lip, worrying it between her teeth. ‘I have a secret.’

‘What do you mean, a secret?’

She ran a hand through her dark hair gently, moving it away from her eyes and releasing her tension in one smooth movement. On one hand, Finn was her boyfriend, and she’d promised once before that she would tell him everything. 

But then on the other, he’d shown his ability to blurt out information that could potential threaten his own brother’s life. And she was only his girlfriend. 

‘I- I should be an Illegal.’

* * *

 

Santana slipped onto the road heading towards her house, skirting the neighbor's cat and opening the rusted gate. 

She lived on the wrong side of the tracks. That was what Brittany called it. The adjacent neighborhood, the suburb that was added too late, and had all the cheap housing. The kids in Lima Heights normally went to 4th Level schools, like the institute just out of town. But Santana’s mom had a menial job in a high paying company, and it meant that her wage was high enough to warrant her daughter a 3rd Level education. It had taken a lot of begging and bending of the truth, but she was there, and it meant the world to her mom.

Santana wasn’t sure how much it meant to her though.

Sure, McKinley was okay, especially compared to the 4th levels. Navy was better than grey, and polo shirts better than jumpsuits. The freedom of lunch breaks were better than eating in silence and monitored exercise. A 4th level school was no better than a prison.

But McKinley offered very little for her. She’d been assigned, as soon as she hit high school, to Entertainment, and as a 3rd Level, she knew what that meant. It was better than 4th Level at least. She wouldn’t end up a street merchant, she’d be a high class hooker.

Brittany always tried to tell her differently. But Santana wasn’t naive. She knew what entertainment meant. And she knew why she was assigned to it.

She knew she had a good figure. On the weekends and after school, when she walked to Brittany’s or to her current boyfriend’s house, she always heard the catcalls from the old men that stood on their dilapidated porches, leaning over the railings and telling her how well her jeans framed her ass. 

But she wouldn’t even be able to get work as a high class hooker if they knew about Brittany. More specifically, if they knew about how she felt about Brittany.

And apparently her best friend didn’t feel the same way.

She slammed the gate shut behind her, dashing up the paved path and opening the door to call out to her mom. ‘Hey, I’m home.’

‘Aren’t you a little bit early, San? I thought you said you were going to stay at Brittany’s for dinner?’

She tossed her bag onto the sofa, not caring if it fell off before turning back to the kitchen and resting her head against the counter. ‘I was but she had a lot of homework to do, so I didn’t push it.’

It was a testament to her mother’s innocence when it came to her and Brittany that the next words out of her mouth were, ‘Oh, good to see she’s working hard as always.’

Santana only raised an eyebrow, because if anyone could have been downgraded, it would have been Brittany, but some of the teachers took pity on her, and she never managed to get Fs, only straight Ds. And not for lack of trying in class either, she just couldn’t understand the work very easily, and the only way she ever managed to hand in homework was if Santana assisted her with it.

‘What are you cooking?’ she asked, leaning over to sniff the mixing bowl. It looked a suspiciously murky shade of green, and it didn’t smell much better.

‘They’re supposed to be these spinach and bacon muffins, but they don’t seem to be working too well. You might be better just grabbing microwave noodles or something for dinner, okay, hun?’

And Santana nodded, stepping away from the counter and up to her bedroom. The likelihood of her finding microwave noodles in her house were slim.

Her bed was uncomfortable as she collapsed against it. She hadn’t spent the night in her own house for a long time and it felt strange. Normally she’d stay with Brittany and they’d have dinner and just talk, or spend the night curled on her bed. Or if her best friend was in a bad mood, she might call up one of the guys, Noah or one of the other footballers, and spend the night with them. They were always happy to take her in, as long as she put out.

She pressed her head against the pillow, pushing as far down as she could until the material covered her ears and blocked out the world. Her hand reached blindly for a cushion and it came down, covering her eyes and face. ‘I love you, Brittany,’ she mumbled into the material. ‘But I’m never going to be allowed to show it.’

* * *

 

‘What?’

It didn’t make sense. Rachel was at school, even in a 3rd Level Institute. She couldn’t possibly be an Illegal. If she was an Illegal, they would have taken her before she was old enough to even talk, let alone now, nearing her eighteenth birthday.

‘My- my dads,’ she whispered, pressing her lips together anxiously. ‘I have two dads.’

‘Two dads?’

‘Yeah, uh- they’re classified as roommates, but they- they’ve got me. And they’re in love. Like Kurt and Blaine.’ She shuffled closer down the bed, pressing a hand against Finn’s shoulder. It seemed impossibly small in comparison. ‘You believe that they’re in love, don’t you?’

‘I believe they’re insane,’ he muttered, almost to himself. He turned around in place, moving so he was facing her. ‘ _You’re_ insane, Rachel. Why did you stick around? Why didn’t you run, and hide? They’re going to find you!’

‘I’ve survived seventeen and a half years, haven’t I?’

‘But- your ID…’

She smiled softly, holding the small plastic card out to him. It was equipped with her details, electronically through a strip, and in tiny miniature writing on its surface. ‘I have a mom,’ she said softly. ‘She was my surrogate. And she’s recorded on my birth certificate.’

Finn’s large thumbs brushed the surface of the plastic. 

‘I don’t know what she does with herself, how she does it, but she’s technically my mom.’

‘Have you-?’ he asked, trailing off.

‘No, I’ve never met her.’

‘Do you want to?’ 

Rachel shrugged, pushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. ‘I don’t know. Maybe. But it’ll raise more questions for the Officers than it will answer for me. It’s not worth it right now.’

‘But- if the Regime stopped, you’d want to find her?’

She nodded. ‘Yes, I think so.’ She pressed a hand against his cheek and her lips to his forehead. He tried not to flinch, to pretend nothing had changed. But something had.

Because no matter how normal she seemed, Rachel was an Illegal. And that meant, for all means and purposes, she shouldn’t exist.


	4. Chapter Three

**Chapter Three**

' _Heaven is not a place, and it is not a time. Heaven is being perfect.’  
_ _-Richard Bach, ‘Jonathan Livingston Seagull’_

‘Mom!’ 

‘What is it, Quinny?’ 

The blonde ran a hand through her hair, pushing it off her face. Her hand was wet, and it left the locks damp. ‘Where did you put Beth’s soap?’

‘It’s in the top cupboard, honey!’

She sighed, reaching out a hand, but from her spot on the floor, kneeling over the bath tub, she was nowhere near reaching it. Her other hand was around Beth’s back stopping her from slipping under the water, a habit she had picked up over the last month, and it scared the hell out of her when it happened.

‘I can’t reach it from here, mom! I need you to grab it for me!’

There were footsteps in the corridor and then Quinn’s mother was leaning through the door, hardly raising her arm past shoulder height to open the cabinet door and pass the baby shampoo to her daughter. ‘Dinner will be ready in ten minutes, so you should make sure Beth’s down by then, okay?’

‘Fine,’ Quinn sighed. She took the soap and tried to open it with one hand, but it slipped from her grasp, banging noisily against the edge of the bath tub before sliding into it and hitting the small girl within on the top of her head.

She began to cry, loudly and punctured with heavy sobs. Quinn reached out both her hands brushing the hair off her own daughters head and humming words of comfort. ‘It’s okay, Bethy. It’s okay. Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry.’

These moments were the scariest, the moments when too loud a noise would be heard by the neighbors. And their neighbors weren’t the type of people to be nice and ignore the noise. They were the type of neighbors to come investigating, prying into other people’s private lives for any excuse to call up the Officers and see someone taken away. They would enjoy it, just for the gossip it would allow.

‘Sh, honey, sh,’ Quinn whispered frantically. She lifted the baby from the bath, holding her wet frame close to her so Beth could feel her heartbeat. It was a position that the little girl found comforting, and it was one of the few ways to muffle her cries almost immediately. It didn’t matter to Quinn if her clothes got wet. It mattered to her that her daughter remained a secret.

‘Beautiful baby, good baby. Don’t cry, Beth, don’t cry.’ 

From the door, her mother watched, her eyes sad. ‘Are you okay, Quinn?’

‘I’m fine,’ the blonde said and pushed another damp strand of hair from her eyes. Beth was settling against her shoulder, and she relaxed enough to use the facility of her now free hands to pour out a measure of soap and rub it gently into her daughter’s hair. ‘Can you check that no one heard for me?’

Her mother shook her head. ‘She was quiet. It’ll be okay.’

‘Just _check,_ mom.’

And she did, backing out of the bathroom with a silent nod. 

In Quinn’s arms, Beth wriggled, suddenly cold in the night air. She settled her back down in the warm water of the bath and carefully rinsed out the soap, smiling as the baby girl giggled.

‘I love you, Beth,’ she whispered. It was the most she could do, the largest gesture she could impart. ‘You are perfect.’

* * *

 

A few streets over, Kurt and Blaine were in Kurt’s room, the door inexplicably opened, as his father always requested. They were leaning against the headboard, Kurt curled into Blaine’s chest as a movie played on the screen. It was old and crackly, horrible quality compared to their normal viewing, but it was a favourite of Kurt’s. He hadn’t been lying when he’d told Rachel they were going to be watching _The Sound of Music._

 _Sixteen Going On Seventeen_ was playing, and the pair hummed along absently, only the slightest of yawns escaping from Blaine’s lips.

But Kurt caught it and he grabbed the other boy’s hand as he reached up to cover the sound. ‘No, Blaine. You’re tired, don’t hide it. You have to drive home in half an hour and I don’t want you crashing on the road.’ He reached for the remote, pressing the pause button carefully and waiting until he was sure the screen had come to a halt before gripping Blaine’s hand and tugging him off the bed. ‘Let me make you coffee.’

The younger boy trailed willing behind Kurt, his hand caught in a tight grip, and as they reached the bottom of the stairs he waved towards Kurt’s parents, sitting curled on the sofa in the living room. They waved back at him.

This house, Blaine thought, was one of the few places where being different and breaking some of the Rules didn’t matter. Maybe it came from the fact that Burt and Carole weren’t each others first marriage, that they’d both been married before. It was a rarity, only caused by death, and they definitely seemed to take the strength of love for much more than granted. And maybe it was because Kurt was so flamboyant when he was at home, wearing jeans that were tight and hugged his figure, or was happy to wear a pink shirt rather than the dark greens and browns that Finn preferred. 

But no matter the reason, Kurt’s family - Burt and Carole - _wanted_ the two of them to show the relationship between them. Despite the fact that they couldn’t go out in public, here they could be themselves.

He just wished it was the same at his house.

‘Cream?’ Kurt asked, holding it above the cup. Blaine nodded and he poured it in carefully, reaching towards the drawer to pull out a spoon and stir. He handed the cup across the table to Blaine and reached into the upper cabinet himself for another mug and a tea bag.

‘What are you drinking?’ he motioned with a tilt of his head.

‘Herbal tea. Since that barista accidentally gave me the wrong cup by accident the other day, I’ve been addicted.’

‘Chamomile and rose hip?’

‘Yes, and it is delicious.’ He reached for the kettle, pouring hot water into the cup and stirring absently for a moment. He watched Blaine with pensive eyes, as if weighing him up. The younger boy felt strangely self-conscious.

‘What? What is it?’

‘Do you ever think about what it would be like if the Regime wasn’t in place?’

It was an odd question, but Blaine had to admit he’d been waiting for it, ever since Kurt had taken his hand in the coffee shop, leading him home until they were standing in this very condition and asked him in a soft quiet voice, as if scared that he would say no, and his world would go to hell, ‘Are you gay?’

‘Of course,’ Blaine said, and it had been his answer then too. ‘I think about it all the time. What it would be like walking down the street with you, holding your hand, kissing you in public. It would be glorious and wonderful, I’m sure. I could tell you I love you when everyone was listening, scream it from the top of my lungs.’ He smiled, leaning against the counter to press his lips gently to Kurt’s as if to solidify the point.

‘But, Blaine, that’s what I mean. I want that, you want that. Why don’t we do something about it?’

It was a tough question, but not one that Blaine had particularly thought about before. ‘Because-’ he tried to answer, but the words caught in his throat, not even fully formed in his mind. ‘Because-’

‘Exactly.’ Kurt pulled out his tea bag, resting it on the edge of the sink before taking a sip. ‘We want to do something, but what do we do? That’s what I keep thinking about. We’re just two teenagers. How do we fight back?’ 

Their eyes met, and something passed between them, a question, and also an answer. Blaine was the one to voice it. ‘We need more people.’

‘Yes, but we can’t just trust anyone and everyone. A lot of the kids at school would simply go straight to the Leaders, or worse, the Officers.’

Blaine bit his lip, rolling the flesh between his teeth. ‘We have to find people like us.’

‘People like us? Other gays? I don’t think there’s that many, and if they are, they’re not going to let anyone know.’ He took another sip from his cup of tea. ‘No, we need someone else who’s _like_ us, who wants to change the Regime, but for different reasons.’ His eyes were glinting, his brain ticking over fast behind his irises. 

‘What are you thinking, Kurt?’

He smiled suddenly, taking another large gulp of his tea before putting it down on the counter and reaching his arms out to wrap around Blaine’s neck. The younger boy responded by curling his arms around his waist, completing the embrace.

‘I think I have some ideas.’

* * *

 

Beth was dried and placed in a jumpsuit leftover from Quinn’s own childhood days when she placed her down for bed. The crib was nestled inside a false cavity behind Quinn’s own wardrobe, close enough that she could hear Beth breathing in the silence of the night. If she cried, she was near enough to be comforted, and Quinn could be assured that she’d hear her daughter. But if any Officer came knocking, they would be unable to see the cleverly hidden knob, or recognize the back wall for the false cover it was.

‘Goodnight, Beth,’ Quinn whispered, laying a kiss on the little girl’s forehead and stepping back. ‘I’ll be up to bed soon, angel. Just stick tight.’ She tucked her in, covering her beneath a duck patterned coverlet that had once been Quinn’s sister, Francesca’s. ‘I love you.’

And she backed away, carefully sealing the hidden room behind a lightweight panel of wood siding. 

‘Dinner, Quinn!’

‘I’m coming, mom!’ she called back and slipped out of the room, blowing a kiss towards her now closed wardrobe.

Down in the kitchen, her mother was scooping mashed potato onto plates already filled to exploding with vegetables and stew. This was how her mom relaxed, how she wound down. As soon as she arrived home from work she cooked dinner for Beth, normally something easily chewable. The little girl was starting to teethe and she liked to use her new found skill, but too much pressure on her gums made her cry, and that was the one thing that must be avoided at all costs.

Then, when the little girl was fed, she’d begin a meal for her and Quinn. It would always contain a meat, normally one that would last a few days so if there was an emergency, they could reheat leftovers. There rarely was one, and they were always throwing away uneaten food or giving it to the neighbors in a hopeful sign of good will, but it was made nonetheless. And there was always a good array of vegetables and perhaps an apple crumble or some other pudding for dessert. Tonight was sticky date pudding. It rested in the oven while they ate.

‘This is really good, mom,’ Quinn commented between mouthfuls. ‘I don’t know how you manage it.’ She asked this every night, but her mother always brushed it off with the same nonchalant wave.

‘You know I love to cook, Quinnie.’

There was a pause while they ate, only the sound of their jaws moving filling the silence. 

Finally, in a small voice, the younger woman broke it. ‘Did anyone notice?’

‘Of course not, darling.’

‘Did you check?’

‘Of course I did.’

‘Really, mom?’ Her eyebrows knitted together in concern. No matter how hard she tried, her mother sometimes started to wane, get lax. She wouldn’t look so hard, be so vigilant. The almost two years since Quinn had learned she was pregnant had taken it’s toll, and things that perhaps might be considered small by the outsider - but not to Quinn, never to Quinn - sometimes got left.

‘There’s a light on in Howard’s kitchen.’

‘It’s dinner time, Quinn.’

‘There wasn’t a light on when I got home.’

‘The sun was still out, dear.’

‘Before I took Beth for her bath, all the lights on that side of us were out.’

Her mother reached out a hand, crossing the small void of the dinner table to press it tightly against her daughter’s shoulder. ‘Relax, Quinnie. You need to take a deep breath.’

And that was what did it for Quinn. That was what made her push her plate away and stand up, almost knocking her chair back in anger. ‘No, I don’t, mom. I don’t need to take a deep breath. I need _you_ to care about my daughter. I need _you_ to be more careful, and not just think everything will be fine. Because you know what, _it’s not._ My daughter is an Illegal. And if you had have raised me like all the other girls at school, I would have aborted her, and we wouldn’t be in this situation right now. But no, you wanted me to have good morals, so I kept her, and now what have we got? A child we have to hide from the neighbors, you who won’t even help to maintain her safety, and a heck of a lot of stretch marks!’

And she ran away, up the stairs and to her bedroom, where she unhooked the secret panel in the back of her wardrobe, lifted Beth from her cot, and carried her into her bed.

And for the rest of the night, she laid there, her daughter curled into her chest, and cried until the tears ran down her face even as she slept.


	5. Chapter Four

**Chapter Four**

_‘A friend is a person with whom I may be sincere. Before him, I may think aloud.’  
_ _-Ralph Waldo Emerson_

The cafeteria bustled with activity, individuals hurrying to their usual tables, desperate to find their spot before something changed, and order was lost. Kurt scanned the crowd, searching out Rachel’s dark hair, but she was already seated, and was already at a different table to the one Kurt had assigned them to the day before.

‘What are you doing here?’ he asked as he placed his tray in front of her. ‘This isn’t our normal table.’

‘Our normal table got taken,’ she replied and motioned with her head toward a small group of girls who were now giggling hysterically over a piece of paper. ‘Freshmen.’

‘Can’t they just keep to themselves? They seem to multiply every day.’

Rachel nodded, but it was more out of courtesy than an actual act of agreement. They sat down at their new table, eyeing it carefully. Yesterday, there had been one seat, and the person who had filled it was nice enough, and Kurt was sure she had been one of them. Now they had two spare seats, and there was no assurance that their newcomer would be as likable.

Kurt sighed. He’d been planning on asking Quinn why she took time off from school the year before, today.

It was only minutes later when Quinn herself joined them, placing her tray down and reaching again for her apple. She didn’t ask if it was okay to sit, but she did raise an eyebrow in Kurt’s direction, as if asking for permission. He nodded slightly and she continued on, the barest of a smile curling the corners of her mouth.

‘Quinn, I wanted to ask you-’ he started, but before he had finished his sentence, another voice was joining the melee.

‘I’m sitting here, alright, and I don’t care if you’re having a private conversation, because private conversations are for losers.’ The girl kicked away a chair, collapsing on to to it and putting her feet up against the edge of the metal table. She’d painted the bottom of her uniform sneakers with nail polish, and Kurt could swear there was a rude word, half obscured, written across the bottom of one. 

‘And you are?’ he asked. His tone was leaning towards rude, but there had been no politeness in her introduction, so he felt the need for niceties was greatly diminished.

‘Santana. Serial number 529199412.’ She reeled it off as if she had known it her whole life. In fact, she reeled it off more like she’d been _trained_ to do so, like she’d been required to do more than the average person. Sure, Kurt could work out his serial number if required, or read it off his ID. But he couldn’t just stream off every number like that. It was usually an indicator of a 4th Level. But she was at their school, and he’d seen her around, she hadn’t upgraded herself recently.

‘And what are you doing at our table all of a sudden?’ 

‘Yeah,’ Quinn piped up, glancing at the girl. ‘I thought you sat with Brittany. You’re in line next to each other, aren’t you?’

The girl - Santana - scowled. ‘As a matter of a fact, we are not friends at all.’

Kurt laughed, crossing his arms in front of his chest. ‘So, basically, you had a fight.’ He said it with a definitive tone. It was a statement, not a question.

Santana blinked, but didn’t argue and instead reached for her apple, biting into it with menace.

‘What was it about?’ he asked her. ‘You seem pretty pissed.’

‘We had a disagreement of opinion.’

‘A disagreement of opinion?’

‘Yep. She thought one thing, I thought another. It happens a lot between individuals, I’ve heard.’

Kurt nodded, leaning back in his seat and raising an eyebrow carefully. ‘Happens a lot more in relationships, from what I’ve been hearing. It always hurts more when its someone you love. And I mean, I argue with my brother all the time, but we never ignore each other. And I’m sure sometime in the near future, I will have an argument with Rachel here, but she will continue sitting at this spot everyday, because no one will have her.’

‘Hey!’ Rachel reached out a hand and slapped him across the shoulder, but it barely stung. ‘I could sit with Finn if I wanted to.’

‘No, you can’t, because he told you he didn’t want to sit with you.’

‘How did you know about that?’ she hissed, giving him an eye that said _don’t you dare._

‘He told me, after you and Blaine had left,’ Kurt countered quickly.

‘Did he-?’

‘Yep.’

Rachel looked murderous, her eyes suddenly scanning the cafeteria for the hulking form of her boyfriend. He was nowhere to be found and she quickly settled back down, scowling.

‘See what I mean?’ Kurt said to Santana. ‘Relationships.’

And he eyed her, searching for the reaction that he had a feeling might be there. Kurt prided himself on being able to read people, and this mysterious Santana would be no exception to the rule. 

She frowned, pursing her lips together and repositioning her arms across her chest but as she did so, she nodded, a movement that Kurt was sure was subconscious, but it confirmed his suspicions anyway. Sadly, there was no way anymore that Quinn would open up to him, and Rachel would find it impossible to trust Santana. All he could do was add her name to his mental list of possible allies.

Because Santana was in love with her best friend, Brittany.

‘Quinn, Rachel, I want you to meet me at the cafe off Main after school today. Wear casual clothes.’ He stood up, leaning close to the table so only they would hear. ‘Tell no one.’

* * *

 

Blaine slipped out of his final class, catching up to Jeff just as he was opening his locker. 

‘Oh, hey, Blaine. You’re still around. Did you miscount?’ His voice was dull, deadpan, and Blaine had the feeling he was angry with him. He wasn’t too surprised, actually.

‘Stop this, Jeff. You know why I’m doing this. It’s for a good reason.’

The blonde gnawed at the inside of his cheek but didn’t look at Blaine. Instead, he methodically unpacked and repacked his bag, taking as much time as he could as if hoping that Blaine would apologise.

‘Actually,’ he said slowly, ‘Today’s my last day.’

‘Good for you.’

‘It is.’

‘I hope you have a great time at the 3rd Level.’

‘It’s called William McKinley.’

‘Good for you.’

The conversation was going in circles and grumpily, Blaine reached out a hand, catching Jeff’s shoulder. ‘Hey, dude, we can still hang out, you know?’

‘What? With you at McKinley where you _belong?_ As if you want to.’ He swung his bag onto his shoulder, using his free hand to push Blaine’s away. ‘As if we hang out now.’

And he turned away, moving quickly out into the main rush of the corridor and away from Blaine. The dark haired boy wasn’t sure whether to be upset, or just relieved that the boy hadn’t let slip anything about Kurt. He opened his locker and pulled out his books, clearing it of the remains of his life at Dalton 2nd Level, and settling for a bit of both.

* * *

 

The coffee shop was crowded, just how Kurt liked it. He slipped between the tables, heading towards the little nook in the back corner that he and Blaine often frequented. It was secluded, far enough from the rest of the patrons that no one could overhear their conversation, but close enough to the noisy percolators and steamers that the noise would obscure anything that happened to be just that little bit too loud.

He passed the counter and he waved a hand to the girl behind the coffee machine, motioning for his usual. She shot him a nod in response. 

‘Kurt!’ Rachel called from the doorway and he turned to face her. Her hair was pulled back in a bright purple headband, and she was wearing a pinafore and penny-loafers. Her dress sense really could only be described as _horrible._

‘What are you _wearing?’_ Kurt asked.

‘It’s a pinafore,’ she replied with a grin.

‘I can see that. It also belongs to a six year old.’

Rachel chose to ignore that comment and instead sat down, flattening her skirt against her knees. Quinn arrived shortly after, and Kurt smiled. He had been right. She was wearing a loose floral skirt, in a warm yellow, and a white shirt. 

‘So what’s this about?’ the newcomer asked, settling down on the other side of Kurt, as far from Rachel as she could get. Her voice was harried, as if she’d arrived in a rush, which Kurt found odd, seeing as it was a good hour after school let out. 

‘This is about the fact that each of us has something to hide.’

‘I don’t-’ Quinn was quick to reply, but Kurt cut her off, holding up a hand. 

‘Yes, you do. I don’t know what it is, but,’ he lowered his voice to almost a whisper. ‘You hate the Regime as much as we do.’ He motioned to himself. ‘I’m gay. The love of my life attends a 2nd Level school, but he just purposely downgraded himself. I don’t know whether to laugh or cry.’ Quinn shot him a sympathetic look, but his risk had paid out. She didn’t look as if she was about to go running to the authorities. ‘Rachel here is an Illegal.’

‘You’re _what?’_ That raised more of a reaction with Quinn.

‘I _told_ you this was a bad idea, Kurt,’ Rachel scowled, motioning with one hand towards the blonde.

The girl in question was quick to respond. ‘No, no! It’s not a bad thing, I mean-’ She bit her lip, as if running over how much she could reveal. ‘The reason I was away last year was because- well, I was pregnant.’

Rachel raised a slow eyebrow. 

‘Um- my daughter’s an Illegal, too.’

The brunette let out a slow noise. ‘Hmm.’

‘See, we’re all friends here. We all believe the same thing, right? The Regime is bad?’

Quinn nodded, and Rachel was not too far behind. Both sets of eyes panned the cafe as if searching for someone to overhear and raise the alarm. But no one was batting an eyelid, everyone was absorbed in their own conversations. 

‘What can we do about it, though?’ Quinn asked. ‘We’re only a group of kids.’

‘Yes, but there’s power in numbers. Four of us is better than one or two.’

‘Four?’ This voice was Rachel’s.

‘Yes, Blaine is in on this plan of course. He couldn’t make it this afternoon, he’s filling out paperwork, but he has the same values, and he is very interested in doing what he can for the cause.’

‘The cause?’ Quinn had opened her mouth to speak, but it wasn’t her voice that said the words. The voice that did was dark, biting, and when a fourth figure collapsed into their nook, Kurt wasn’t at all surprised.

‘Well, hi there, Santana.’


	6. Chapter Five

**Chapter Five**

_‘Justice is truth in action.’  
_ _-Benjamin Disraeli_  

In a small room, high in a metallic, cold office building, one man sat behind a computer screen. He was dressed in a rich red, from head to foot, and beneath his fingers was a computer keyboard. It had long since gone out of date, along with every other piece of hardware in his room, but his software was as high-tech as it could come. Outside his door was a large sign, with only four letters. Despite its size, it was the smallest in the hall. _Ohio._

A red light was flashing above his central computer screen, and he pressed a button, bringing up the view of a small cafe. In the top corner was a time stamp that ticked over as he spoke, in time with the digital clock above his head. Beneath the time stamp is a location. _Lima, Ohio._

‘We have a red light in Room 25,’ he muttered into his microphone. He pressed another button on his keyboard and the screen zoomed in to focus on a corner of the room. Four teenagers were sitting together in an out of the way booth, leaning closer to whisper between them.

‘How many flags?’ a voice asked into his ear.

One more tap brought up a secondary screen, filled with a list of names and numbers. A quick mental calculation and then he was replying, ‘Four.’

‘Out of how many people?’

‘Four.’

‘Shit.’ The voice on the other end of the line paused, mulling things over, and the man in Room 25 could have sworn he heard paper shuffling, despite the fact that that particular building hadn’t used paper in twenty years.

When the reply finally came, it was short. ‘What for?’

* * *

 

‘So, what’s happening in this little shindig?’ Santana asked, lifting her feet onto the table and sliding her butt down the seat of her chair. ‘Got some secrets to share that I can yell out to the whole cafe? Any juicy goss?’

‘If you even think about yelling anything out loud, I will not hesitate to tell the whole cafeteria tomorrow at school _you’re_ secret,’ Kurt countered.

‘You don’t know my secret.’

‘You may think that.’ He leaned back further into his chair, crossing his arms calmly across his chest. 

The latino snarled, but she said nothing more on the topic.

‘Why are you here, Santana?’ Rachel asked. Her lips were pressed into a thin line, and she looked straight ahead, avoiding Santana’s gaze. 

‘I’m here because you’re clearly planning something, and I want in.’

‘A part of our plan?’ Kurt asked, raising an eyebrow.

‘Yep.’

‘Do you even know what our plans are?’

‘Do you even _have_ plans?’ It was a good point, and Kurt consented, nodding appreciatively. 

‘Touche.’

‘We do have some ideas, and things we want to achieve,’ Rachel said haughtily. ‘I’m going to lead this group to knock off the Regime.’

Santana raised an eyebrow but it was Quinn who responded.

‘If anyone’s doing any leading in this group, it would be Kurt.’

Rachel pushed her lips tighter together, but as seemed common with her, didn’t argue further.

‘So am I in or not?’

Kurt eyed Santana, watching her pensively. ‘If you love her, you’re in.’

Both Quinn and Rachel turned to Santana, as if waiting on bated breath for her response, despite the fact they knew considerably less than Kurt. And Kurt was only guessing.

But no word fell from Santana’s mouth. She only unhooked her feet from their spot against their table and shifted her chair closer.

‘Right,’ Kurt said softly. ‘So we’re agreed.’

* * *

 

 ‘So we have Quinn - that’s Quebec, Uniform, India, November, November - 52319946. We have flags on her household for mysterious noise late at night, and she was homebound for six months last year. The doctor said she was contagious with a bad case of meningitis, but there were questions raised that no one’s been able to answer properly.’

The voice in his ear pierce was quick to reply. ‘Who else?’

‘Kurt - Kilo, Uniform, Romeo, Tango - 52919943. His father remarried after he was widowed. The new wife also a widow. Brought another son with her, it says.’

This time, the other man didn’t even speak, only waited in expectant silence.

‘Um-’ the man stammered, ‘and then we have Rachel - Romeo, Alfa, Charlie, Hotel, Echo, Lima - 52919949. Her mother works here in NYC, away from the family, but in her house is a roommate, unrelated.’

Another pause, and when the man didn’t continue, the voice in his ear murmured, ‘You said there were four?’

‘Oh, right, yes, the other is Santana - Sierra, Alfa, November, Tango, Alfa, November, Alfa - 529199412. She lives in Lima Heights, which is pretty much the Bronx of Lima, Ohio. The wrong side of the street, if you get my drift.’

‘4th Levels?’

‘Yeah, but her and her mom - the father’s dead, according to this report - are both 3rd Level. Her wage level is moderately high.’

‘Then why is she living in a 4th Level precinct?’

‘I have no idea.’

The voice fell into its expectant silence again.

‘I should find out, shouldn’t I?’

‘Yes, you should.’ There was a short pause and then, ‘Was there anything else, Officer?’

The man scanned the reports on his screens, searching for any keywords that might jump out at him. ‘No, sir.’

‘Keep track of their conversations, Officer. They may be kids, but they all raise flags. That’s something worth investigating. Get ears on them as soon as you can.’

‘Yes, sir.’

The man reached for his ear, towards a button that would end the call. Just before he hit it, the voice spoke again.

‘Oh, and Officer?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Learn to make your replies quick, succinct and to the point.’

‘Yes, sir.’

And the call was ended before he even had a chance to press the button.

* * *

 

‘There’s a need for us to go against the Regime. We all have our reasons, and that’s something we can sort out later.’ Kurt’s voice was low and quick, as if he was trying to get the words out before anyone could possibly hear them. ‘Together, we can do something about it, right? Together.’

Santana nodded, placing her hand against the table, palm down. ‘Together.’

‘Together,’ Rachel and Quinn mimicked. It was a deal.

‘We need to find a way to plan something,’ Rachel said, leaning back in her chair. ‘This feels too public for me.’

Kurt shook his head quickly. ‘If we’re meeting at one place all the time, it will seem suspicious. So our houses are out. Do you know that park three blocks over? It’s usually deserted.’

Santana nodded. ‘There’s a park in my neighbourhood, too. It’s rough, but no one ever goes to the park.’

‘Those all sound like _wonderful_ suggestions,’ Rachel said, pressing her hands against the edge of the table. ‘But personally, I feel as if we should be finding a permanent meeting place, one in which we will always be sure of where to meet and when we’re going to be there.’

All round the table, this announcement received raised eyebrows. ‘If you want to do that,’ Quinn said, ‘we’re all getting labelled as disobedient.’

‘But it’s much more suitable, is it not? Easier for us all to get to?’

‘Easier for us to get to, easier for them to track us.’

Kurt nodded. ‘This isn’t fun and games, Rachel. This is standing up for something we believe in, a right to be our own people, to make our own mistakes, and to love who we want to love. If we’re doing this, we’re doing this for real.’ He raised one hand into the air. ‘Let’s vote.’

Santana’s hand raised immediately, closely followed by Quinn’s. ‘I raise another hand for Blaine,’ Kurt said, and lifted his other hand above his head. ‘You’re outvoted, Rachel.’

And that was the end of the discussion.

Nothing more to be said.

* * *

 

The pulsing red light above the computer monitor drew the man in Room 25’s attention. It was glowing stronger than before, and a low whine accompanied it. ‘Shit,’ he breathed. ‘Shit, shit, shit.’

He reached for the keyboard, tapping out a short command. On the screen appeared a transcript, a play button large beside it. His cursor hovered over the button as his eyes scanned the words.

_Regime._

_Disobedient._

_Go against._

_Plan._

It didn’t look good. And he didn’t know how to tell anyone.

He keyed the communications unit.

‘Uh- um- someone?’

The voice on the end of his phone line, whispering into his ear, was a woman’s now, and she seemed much cooler and calmer than the harsh male voice from before. ‘Yes, Officer.’

‘I have a hit in Room 25. Flags were raised about fifteen minutes ago, over four teenagers in Lima, Ohio. They were determined as suspicious, but not threatening. I’ve just had a conversation hit from a computer being used by another individual in the cafe.’

‘It was bad?’

He nodded before realising she wouldn’t see him. ‘Uh huh. It looks like they’re plotting something, and the boy is smart, he’s not taking chances.’

The woman on the other end of the line sighed and he heard the clicking of a few buttons. ‘They’re only kids,’ she said finally. ‘If there’s more, let us know, but right now, they’re a low priority. We have a situation going on in Japan, and we need to get them sorted out soon. Mass riots could ensue from this, and I think that means a lot more to the Heads than a group of teenagers who may or may not be planning a minor revolt.’

‘It doesn’t seem-’ he went to say, but she cut him off.

‘If you find anything further, let us know. Goodbye, Officer.’

And again, his line went dead.


	7. Chapter Six

**Chapter Six**

_‘Love, whether newly-born or aroused from a death-like slumber, must always create a sunshine, filling the hearts so full of radiance, that it overflows upon the outward world.’  
_ _-Nathaniel Hawthorne, ‘The Scarlett Letter’_

The cafeteria was crowded, faces and people moving quickly to find a space to sit. Blaine followed meekly behind Kurt, holding his tray at waist height. ‘Where are we sitting?’ he whispered, leaning forward so his lips were near the other boy’s ear.

‘The others are over there. Good, they saved a spot for you.’ 

They ducked and weaved between tables, dodging around a group of boys who really should be _forced_ to wear deodorant, and slipped into chairs at the table Quinn had snagged for them. Both she and Rachel were already seated, and glancing around, Kurt caught sight of Santana, roughly pushing a small freshman out of the way to reach them.

‘Santana,’ he warned, but she only shrugged nonchalantly, slamming her tray down on the table. 

‘So _this_ is Blaine,’ she said, raising an eyebrow. ‘Wanky.’

Blaine shot her a quizzical look, but Kurt was blanching and he reached out to lay a hand on his shoulder comfortingly. The older boy pushed it off. 

‘Not here, Blaine,’ he hissed. ‘You too, Santana.’

‘What?’ was her reply. Blaine only stared dumbstruck. Kurt was never like this, never harsh or blunt when he was with him. It was a new side of him he’d never seen before. 

‘What are you staring at, Blaine?’ Kurt asked, and he shook his head gently, dispelling the thought. It was only because he was at school, because he couldn’t be himself. Right?

A hand snaked under the table coming to rest against his leg and he looked up to see Kurt smiling warmly at him. The expression was much more like what he was used to. _I love you,_ he mouthed, and Kurt returned the words gently.

_I love you, too._

It was mesmerizing.

‘I thought you said 3rd Level would be horrible, Kurt,’ Blaine said, moving his gaze around the cafeteria to dispel the image of the movement of Kurt’s lips. No use dwelling on things that shouldn’t be a thought in his mind anyway and especially not here, at school. A 3rd Level school, no less.

‘I said you would have no freedom. Not that it would be horrible.’

‘You said I shouldn’t come,’ Blaine countered. ‘But it’s nice, having lunch with you… guys.’

Kurt raised an eyebrow, the hint of a smile curving the corner of his mouth, but he only pierced a piece of lettuce with his fork and attempted to swallow it down. 

‘Kurt.’ The voice was Rachel’s and she was leaning across the table, motioning for him to meet her halfway. ‘I thought we should meet at my place tonight. Blaine’s welcome of course, but I thought we should start planning this little revolution of ours.’

Each member of the circle raised an eyebrow at her and she leaned back into her seat, crossing her arms indignantly across her chest. ‘Sorry for suggesting we actually _do_ something rather than talk about it all the time.’

‘Talking is necessary, Rachel,’ Quinn argued. ‘It allows us to determine what each of us are comfortable doing and what we want to achieve. If you’re running a marathon, you don’t just run straight in, you train first.’

Blaine nodded. It was a viable opinion, and definitely something that made sense. 

But again, Rachel countered it, her voice annoyed and angry, to the point that it annoyed and angered everyone at that table. ‘We’re not running a marathon, Quinn. We’re planning a _revolution.’_

‘Keep your voice down!’ It was Kurt that hissed that, and his hand reached across the table to grab Rachel’s arm, shaking her slightly. ‘There’s no meeting tonight, alright? Another time.’ He turned to Blaine pointedly, shifting in his sheet until they were facing each other directly. ‘Blaine, would you care to talk about your experience at a 2nd Level? If I hear another word out of Rachel’s mouth, I think I might snap and throw something.’

‘Certainly,’ Blaine said, and he smiled.

* * *

 

‘I just got a whole heap more keywords.’ Room 25 was suddenly filled with a crowd of people. The cameras in the cafeteria at William McKinley 3rd Level Education Institute were all trained on one table, surrounded by five people. 

‘What do I do?’ the Officer asked.

Another Officer from down the hall, Room 23, Pennsylvania, pressed his lips together, glancing at the screen and running a thumb along the length of his upper lip. ‘I’ve never seen anything like it,’ he breathed in almost a whisper. ‘I mean, anyone else and I’d be raising the alarm straight away. But they’re _kids.’_

‘They all raised flags, though.’

‘Even the fifth kid?’

The Officer from Room 25 nodded. ‘He just got downgraded yesterday. And less than three months ago he’d been getting straight As.’ He tapped a few buttons on his keyboard absently, an anxious tic that he had been performing a lot over the last five hours. Even when he’d gone home, over the night shift, he was still jumpy. Nothing like this every happened in Ohio. He was one of the youngest Officers there, and he’d been given this room because nothing ever happened. That was the _point._

‘Do I call it in?’

‘You’ve rung them up before. Nothing more has technically happened,’ 23 commented.

‘Yes, but they’ve grown in numbers.’

‘It doesn’t mean a thing.’

The Officer from Room 25 spun in his chair, eyebrows high against his forehead and mouth hanging open. ‘Can’t you see that sentence there. That one I’ve highlighted? _We’re planning a revolution.’_

23 bit his lip. ‘I see that it is a bit worrying, but it’s not something that’s going to affect the Heads. It might be a worry for a bit, but the Upper Officer told you yesterday. They’re tight strung with this thing in Japan. Five kids in Ohio aren’t going to do much.’

‘I’m going to call it in.’

‘It’s on your head, Officer. Personally, I think they’re not going to like it.’ He stepped backwards, heading towards the door. He opened it one handed and slipped out, shooting a final sarcastic smile and wave in 25’s direction before closing the door behind him, calling out, ‘Your call.’

* * *

 

‘Santana!’ The voice came from the other side of the bus shelter and the latino paused, ID in hand and poised above the swiper to pay for the bus.

She turned her head only slightly until she could catch, out of the corner of her eye, a long blonde ponytail and she scowled.

‘Santana!’

She ran her ID card through the scanner, taking the first step onto the bus. It was that simple, a single step, but she hesitated, rocking back on a foot and as she regained her balance, a hand caught around her upper arm.

‘Sanny!’

She sighed, but stepped back and Brittany released her, her mouth open to speak but no words coming out. Her lips only moved in silent speech as Santana pressed a hand into her hip, rocking it to the side.

‘Was there something you wanted to say, Brittany?’

The blonde stared, observing every line of Santana’s face before breathing out, ‘Are- are you angry at me?’

‘Of course not.’ The girl’s voice was laced with sarcasm, oozing and dripping off every word. ‘You’re my best friend, and I’d never be mad at you for longer than an hour.’

The smile that broke across Brittany’s face was filled with relief. ‘Oh, thank God, because I thought-’

‘Freaking _hell,_ Britt. It’s sarcasm! Learn to recognize it.’ She spun, moving to step back onto the bus, but her spot in line had been taken and the door had already closed. As she reached out her hand to bang on it, motioning for the driver to open up, the wheels started moving, the engine accelerated and the bus pulled away. ‘ _Shit!’_

Santana stomped her foot, and snarled, continuing her movement away from Brittany and resettling her bag on her shoulder. Her polo shirt was crumpling together at the top of the sleeves and the hem was riding up around her hips, revealing a thin sliver of tanned skin, but she was too frustrated to even consider fixing it or pulling it down. Instead she just walked, quickly and in the most pointedly opposite direction from Brittany.

‘Sanny! Wait! Come back!’ There were heavy footfalls behind her and then Brittany was stuttering to a slower pace at her side, drawing her hands up to hook into the straps of her backpack as she walked. ‘Why are you sarcastic-mad?’

Santana frowned, mulling over her words for a moment. She almost considered not replying, but then considering that option involved a long walk home with Brittany by her side, refusing to stop talking until she got an answer, an answer was easier to give.

‘You don’t care about me.’

‘I care about you!’ And yes, she had expected that answer, but it still brought her to her feet, turning ninety degrees to face the person whom she’d once considered her best friend.

‘No, you don’t. Not really. Not like I care about you.’

The blonde girl’s eyebrows furrowed, her lips pursing as she tried to think it over. Unlike Santana, she was much less successful. ‘How do you care about me?’

‘God.’ Santana let out a breathy sigh, letting it escape onto the wind and disappear before it had barely reached Brittany’s ears. ‘I care about you like you’re the only thing in my world. You mean more to me than my mom, or my wank job dad. I would break rules for you, Brittany. I’d do anything for you.’ She paused, turning again to walk and hooking her own thumbs through the straps of her bag so their actions were mirrored. ‘And you may care about me, but it’s not the same. Not when I’d do anything for you, and the most you would do is hold my hand during lunch time or maybe kiss me when we’re alone.’ Her voice was bordering on _way_ too loud for a public place, but since the bus had left, the street had been pretty much deserted.

‘I’d do anything for you, Santana!’

The girl smirked. ‘Would you go against the Regime? For me?’

That put her into silence. She stared straight ahead, not speaking until Santana prompted her. ‘Well?’

‘You know that’s impossible, San. You can’t just go against something that’s been there our whole lives!’

‘Kurt and I are. And that Quinn girl, who was sick last year. And that midget with the loud voice and too many opinions? Raquel? Is that her name?’

‘Rachel,’ Brittany corrected and glanced at Santana, but the girl was smiling, a sad sort of smile. 

‘We’re going to do this, Brittany. And I don’t know what it will mean, but I can’t be around you if you won’t help me.’

The blonde pouted, making her bottom lip jut out in a way that she knew usually left Santana agreeing to anything. This time, however, she only shook her head, almost imperceptibly. 

‘No, I’m serious. If we succeed, and the world is changed for the better - and I’m not saying it will, I definitely have no high hopes with that Rachel girl in our crew - then I want you to know that I love you. And I want you.’ She paused, leaning forward to wrap her arms around Brittany’s shoulders. It was a hug of goodbye. A hug of promise. A hug of never wanting to let go. ‘But not like this. When it’s better, you will be mine,’ she whispered.

And then she pulled away, finally fixing her shirt and stepping quickly down the sidewalk towards her neighbourhood.

Brittany didn’t follow.

* * *

 

In the tall metallic building, three floors above Room 25, two men and a woman were crowded round a single computer screen, observing its contents.

‘It’s curious,’ the woman said, running her eyes again down the words. ‘I was the one that took his call yesterday and I wasn’t that concerned, but with more key words like that - and these are _much_ more specific than the ones we picked up the other day - we could have a real issue on our hands.’

One of the men glanced at her. ‘It can’t be that bad, can it?’ He was a portly man, his pants slightly too tight for him, cutting into his round belly. Beneath his arms were large sweat patches and there was a smear of tomato ketchup caught in his mustache. 

‘It may not be a big issue at the moment,’ the other man commented. In contrast to his workmate, he was tall and thin, clean shaven and with hair cropped tightly around his ears. ‘But we’ve seen before the work a few teenagers can do, especially when they have a reason to do it, and these kids all raise flags.’

‘Personally,’ the portly man said, ‘I feel that five kids and a few key words aren’t enough to do anything. They’re in _Ohio,_ for God’s sake. What can anyone do in Ohio?’

‘They can convince others to join them.’

‘Join them in what? A picket parade?’

The woman frowned. ‘You never know. You don’t know their true reasons. All you know is what’s on their flags, and even that isn’t very comprehensive when it comes to explaining the motivations of people. Haven’t you read the history books? It’s always the youth, the people with new views that go against the norm.’

The portly man didn’t respond, not even nodding or shaking his head. He only leaned further back in his chair, a scowl ever present on his face.

‘So what do you suggest we do?’ the thin man asked the woman. ‘If we ask for a public disobedience, they might just raise the alarms and have all the kids in that school jumping to join them.’

‘I agree. We need something small, quiet, that can be put into place using only a few Officers. I wouldn’t trust the school Leaders with this kind of thing.’ She paused running her teeth along the swell of her bottom lip. Then she reached for the keyboard, typing in a quick command. ‘I’m going to send in a group of five Officers, one for each of the individuals.’ She pressed a few more buttons, then turned to her comrades. ‘They’ll go in tomorrow, during school hours, so we’ll be sure to get each of them. But I’ve asked for class hours, so no one should spot the event.’

‘Where are you having them sent?’ 

The woman pursed her lips. ‘What choice do I have? The Heads.’

* * *

 

‘We’re doing this,’ Blaine whispered, leaning against the headboard of Kurt’s bed and pressing his skull firmly into cool wood. ‘Heck, we’re doing this.’

‘Mhm.’ Kurt’s own head was slightly higher, the wood instead biting into his neck, and he turned slightly to face his boyfriend, holding out a hand in front of them. Blaine grasped it and he smiled. ‘I love you.’

‘I love you, too.’ They were words familiar to the two of them, but every time they were spoken, something more seemed to pass through the air, an assurance that this was another day, and they were still together, and they would be for a long time coming if they both had their way. There would be nothing that could make their relationship better, not even an overturn of the stupid Regime.

The silence in the room was warm and comforting, and the small contact between their shoulders that heated beneath their skin and boiled in their blood made Kurt shiver slightly.

‘Are you scared?’ It was Blaine that said it, and in a careful whisper, turning his head to gauge Kurt’s reaction.

The older boy pursed his lips, leaning closer and wrapping his arm around Blaine’s waist. ‘Sometimes. Are you?’

A small laugh sputtered from his throat. ‘God, yeah. All the time. Not about what it will be like if we succeed, but about what it will be like for us if we don’t. All of us, you, me, Rachel, Quinn and Santana. We’ll be outcasts. If we do anything major, we could be fugitives. Perpetually on the run.’ He took a deep breath, and with his head on his chest, Kurt could hear the hint of a gasp in it. ‘And what if they send people after us, and somebody gets hurt. What if _you_ get hurt, Kurt?’

It was a hurried whisper, a fear that Blaine had never put into words before. But Kurt had felt it brewing beneath the surface since he’d first mentioned the idea of a better world, one where you could be who you wanted to be without the pressures and rules of the Regime. And he could feel it in his own stomach too, the pain lingering there with a promise of coming in full force if Blaine ever got hurt.

And he knew there was no certainty, no assurance that none of them wouldn’t get hurt, that both he and Blaine would survive this intact.

But he still spoke the words, with as much strength in them as he could. ‘We won’t get hurt.’

Blaine frowned as if making to argue, but he only leaned closer into Kurt. ‘I trust you.’

_Don’t._

Kurt slid his hand up Blaine’s wrist, toying with the material of his shirt. ‘You are so beautiful,’ he whispered.

‘I’m not that nice. Not in comparison to you.’ It was something Blaine said often, no matter how many times Kurt tried to assure him.

‘You are the best thing that’s ever happened to me. You are amazing, and beautiful, and perfect. Never go anywhere.’ 

Blaine smiled. ‘I’m not going anywhere.’

‘Well, good.’

And it was almost as simple as that, to fall back into their normal banter. Their conversation had barely lasted a few minutes, but it still haunted in the backs of both their minds, just like it had for quite some time before. But nothing more was said. They only held each other, laying sweet and gentle kisses against each others skin as the clock ticked over, reaching late into the night. 

Nobody mentioned Blaine going home, not even Kurt’s dad, who checked in on them on his way to bed. 

The pair were curled against the sheets, the blanket pushed down to the end of the bed. Their arms were wrapped each other, and Kurt’s father only grinned, stepping into the room to gently cover his son and the boy he couldn’t consider anything less.

Neither of them awoke.

* * *

 

A hand caught Quinn’s as she climbed the steps to the main building of the school. It slipped out just as quickly, with only the slightest of pressures, and she turned around in line, trying to catch a glimpse of who it had been, but the other line was moving slower than hers. She only spotted Kurt and Rachel, standing one behind the other, and there was no way for her to know which of them it had been who had touched her.

She stepped up to her locker, pushing her unnecessary books into it and pulling out her Geometry textbook. It slid into her bag with only a slight shift of the canvas material, lodging itself between her Rule book and her binder.

‘Miss.’

The voice was unfamiliar to her, older, and she didn’t turn around. The voice wouldn’t be after her.

‘Quinn? Quinn52319946?’

That made her spin around and she almost ran into the stranger. He had lodged himself in between her and the girl in line beside her and he was dressed all in thick, matte black.

‘Yes?’ she murmured softly, hardly loud enough for him to hear her. All she could think of was Beth. They must have found out about Beth. 

‘You’ll need to come with me, Miss,’ he said, gripping her arm and pulling her not unkindly out of the line.

Beth.

_Beth._

Her eyes darted frantically around the corridor, falling on Santana and Blaine, up one end, being drawn out of their own spots in line. Their own eyes were frantic, and Blaine was pushing against the bulky man who held him place.

‘Help!’

Turning, she found Kurt and Rachel. They were in no better state than her and it had been Rachel who had called out.

Oh, god. They were being taken. They’d talked about starting a riot and now they were being taken for disobedience, never to be seen by their families again.

‘Help!’ she screamed, echoing Rachel’s cries. ‘Help!’

* * *

 

Two yards up and to the right, in a different line, a boy was watching Quinn with a mix of curiosity and concern.

His name was Noah. Serial number 52919941. And he was pretty sure he knew why the blonde had been off school for six months. And why she was being taken now. Well, at least he had a good guess.

What else would have a girl off school three months after losing her virginity and staying away for another good six?

Yeah, he was pretty sure he’d knocked quiet, pretty Quinn up.

And that was why, for some crazed reason, as she called out for help and no one came to her aide, he felt a compelling urge to. It wasn’t like she was the only girl he’d ever screwed, but she was nice, and perhaps he had been a bit hasty in dropping her.

Never mind the reason, he found himself stepping out of line, drawing his arm back and throwing it forward again with such force that it collided with the cartilage of the man in black’s nose, splintering it with a loud thwack and a large spray of blood.

The man stumbled backwards, catching himself on the shoulder of a girl who squealed loudly, backing away.

‘Are you okay?’ Noah asked Quinn, reaching for her hand to pull her close to him. She nodded breathlessly, but he was already looking up the corridor to where Blaine had managed to escape his own captor during the confusion of Noah’s blow.

‘We’re going to have to run,’ he whispered into Quinn’s ear. The men didn’t look as if they were carrying guns, but they definitely didn’t look as if they were messing around. They were already encircling Blaine, Rachel and Kurt, the former having rushed to their aide.

He squeezed Quinn’s hand tightly and pointed in the direction of the nearest door before picking up his feet and running as fast as he could, dragging the girl behind him.

* * *

 

At the other end of the corridor, Santana was spinning out, kicking her foot with pinpoint precision into the groin area of her own captor. He fell to the ground, curling into a ball and she jumped over him, rushing towards her friends.

Blaine was grappling with one man, kicking him in the ankles and shins and twisting his arm tight up behind his back. Santana grinned and aimed another kick in the area around his groin. 

Adrenalin was rushing through her veins, pulsing and glowing red hot in her muscles. Three men were injured and the other two must have been the youngest and most inexperienced, as even Rachel dodged them easily.

The door was in reach, and with that freedom, and Santana ran, only looking over her shoulder for a brief moment to ensure the others were with her.

Blaine and Kurt’s hands were tightly entwined and Santana’s smile grew.

Freedom.


	8. Chapter Seven

**Chapter Seven**  

_'Let heaven exist, though my own place may be in hell. Let me be tortured and battered and annihilated, but let there be one instant, one creature, wherein thy enormous Library may find its justification.’  
_ _-Jorge Luis Borges, ‘The Library of Babel’_

‘What would you like us to do?’ One of five men dressed totally in black held his phone up to his ear, whispering into it. He felt exposed, overly so, surrounded by a group of school kids who had just seen their classmates sprint from the building. ‘We have three men down, and seven kids to take in. Two of us aren’t enough for this, ma’am.’

‘Seven? What do you mean, ‘seven’? Your mission involved _five_ kids, Officer.’

‘Yes, ma’am, I understand, ma’am. But there were two extras that aided their cause against us, and are now escaping with them. We do not know their names, only a general description. One male and one female. Shall we pursue with the aim to keep in sight until back up arrives?’

The woman on the other end of the line thought for a moment, mumbling softly to herself. ‘No. Abort the mission. Put out a general alert for any Officer that comes into contact with these kids to bring them in immediately. Any of the five and any people with them. We’ll take it from there.’

‘But, ma’am, is it not better to get them now, while we know where they are?’

‘We know where they are, Officer,’ she said calmly. ‘They’re on the run.’

* * *

 

The streets were long but relatively empty. The school was outside the central business district of the city, and as such, left the roads pretty much deserted when school was in session. But for the six teenagers sprinting along the sidewalk, emptiness meant nowhere to hide. There were at least two men who could be upon them in seconds, and six of them. They would be spotted immediately. 

And they had nowhere to go. Where could they go? Their own houses were out of the question, the Officers would look for them straight away there. They had to find somewhere that had no relationship to any of them, and they had to find it soon.

Their feet pounded against the pavement, hard slaps of leather soles. A chorus of laboured breathing rang out among the group and at the end of the street they turned, coming to a halt in front of a large white house, it’s well kept garden separating them from the windows of the house. 

‘Where do we go?’ It was Rachel that was talking. Her breathing was the worst of all of them, coming out in quick gasps. ‘I can’t believe that just ha-’

‘Beth.’

‘What?’ Kurt glanced at Quinn in concern. Unlike the rest of them, she was white as a sheet. 

‘Beth,’ she whispered. ‘My little girl. She’s at my house, I can’t leave her. Right now, they could be going in there and taking my mom.’

Kurt’s face softened. ‘Oh my God, Quinn. Your little girl. I didn’t even think about that. How do we get there?’ And it seemed as if he jumped straight back into action, the small break to breathe seemingly already forgotten. She pointed with a finger and he grabbed for Blaine’s hand, leading the small group along the street. Their pace had slowed and now they moved onward in a quick walk. 

They were in pairs, Kurt and Blaine in front, followed closely behind by Quinn and Noah. Since their escape from the school, her hand had never left his. Bringing up the rear was Santana and Rachel and it seemed as if neither of them were very happy with this arrangement. 

‘God, Rachel, will you just keep to your own side of the path?’ the latino hissed. Her jaw was set in a tight line and she refused to look at Rachel except to shoot her an acidic glare.

‘It’s not my fault these paths are only designed to walk single file.’ The short girls arms pumped furiously at her sides, her shorter legs working to keep up with the group.

‘No, you just walk right down the middle. If I wanted to walk on the grass, I would have said.’

‘If I wanted to walk on top of the fences, _I_ would have-’

‘Shut _up.’_ Quinn’s voice was anxious and harried, and she pointed between Blaine and Kurt’s shoulders to the small white fibro cottage that was her home. ‘In there.’

Together, the group stepped up the pathway, but Quinn was pushing ahead, reaching for the door handle. It was loose, unlocked, and the lock itself had broken away from the door jamb. ‘Someone’s been in here,’ she whispered, and then she was pushing through into the house, running through the rooms. ‘Mom? Mom!’ 

No voice returned her calls, no matter how anxious and pleading they became. ‘Mom!’ Tears streamed down her face as she turned from one room to the other. All the others could do was watch. ‘ _Beth!’_

She slipped through into a small hallway, climbing up the stairs quickly. The others followed, much slower, trailing behind her and giving her space. She reached her room in moments and reached for her wardrobe, pulling it open and sliding the secret panel away from the wall, dropping it hastily on the bed.

A small cry reached her ears. _Beth._

The child was leaning up against the edge of the cot, her fingers clinging tight to the frame. Her lips were downturned at the corners and tears streamed down her cheeks as she sobbed. 

‘Oh, honey,’ Quinn cooed, all pain suddenly lost from her voice as she reached forward for her daughter, pulling her into her arms. ‘It’s okay, baby. It’s okay.’ 

From the doorway the others watched as their friend held her daughter. They looked so alike, two heads of perfect blonde hair and bright hazel eyes. 

‘She looks just like you,’ Noah whispered, and Quinn only stared over Beth’s head, watching him, watching the father of her child.

* * *

 

The seventh member of their runaway group couldn’t be considered a friend. The girl was petite, with dark hair and crinkled eyes provided to her by her Asian background. Her name was Tina and she was in Blaine’s year, but he had never met her before. Neither had any of the other group. They had only seen her in the normal movements of the school, another faceless individual that was not spoken to and did nothing better than exist.

But Tina did exist, and it was that small fact that had her dashing down the street behind them, ducking into driveways whenever they decided to look back. She was a big believer in the Regime, a “faithful” as her father liked to call her. Their family was the same, through and through, all of them. Her father was an Officer in the city, keeping contact with them between holidays break via telephone. Her mother was a secretary with the Regime, in their local offices. Together, they had raised Tina to believe in the world she lived in, and to never question the price of unbreakable order. 

And to protect the regime at all costs. 

And all costs meant chasing down the six kids from her school who had attacked and run away from the Officers. 

She knew Blaine by name, being only three people above him in line, and having all of her classes with him. The others were all older, in senior year, and she wasn’t sure who they were. They were bad, that was true. And the way Blaine had held the other boy’s hand, she was beginning to think he may not be as clean cut as he had seemed during their classes together.

The white fibro cottage loomed above her, the last spot she had seen the group before they disappeared from sight. This must be the location they were staying at. 

She slipped up the path, careful to take light footsteps so they wouldn’t hear her. The doorway was open and she slipped inside, wary of making the door creak. The ground floor seemed deserted and she glanced up the stairs. 

They were crowded on the upper landing, surrounding what seemed to be a bedroom and she climbed onto the staircase, reaching for the phone in her pocket. She dialled the number that seemed automatic to her after so many years and called out.

‘Hey!’

* * *

 

‘What are you doing?’ It was Blaine that spoke first, eyeing her carefully. ‘Hey, you’re in my classes! Three up from me in line! What’s your name again?’

‘Tina,’ she said, gritting her teeth. ‘I don’t know what you’re doing, but I’m going to have to call you in. You just incapacitated three Officers and evaded two others. You guys are in serious trouble.’

Rachel’s eyebrows flew towards her forehead, pupils dilating in horror, but she couldn’t speak. No one could speak. The moment had been perfect, each of them crowding around Quinn and her beautiful child, seemingly safe for the time being inside a house that had already been raided. And now there was someone essentially training a gun at them. In the form of a cell phone.

‘You don’t have to do this, Tina,’ Blaine said, stepping off the landing and onto the first step. ‘We’re not the bad guys.’

‘Well, I think you are. And get back onto that landing, Blaine. I don’t want any of you anywhere near me.’

‘What are we going to do?’ he asked, but he stepped backwards, holding up his hands in surrender. ‘We’re teenagers, just like you. We’ve been in school, doing our own thing. It’s not our fault that we’ve just been chased out of our school.’

She pressed dial, holding the phone up to her ear. It rang out in the silent hallway. 

‘You don’t have to do this,’ Blaine said again, waving his hands slightly in case she wasn’t aware of his surrender. ‘None of us are going to hurt you.’

‘You wouldn’t be taken by the Officers if you were doing the right thing. The Regime doesn’t take people for nothing. You’ve disobeyed.’

‘No, we’ve tried to do something different to everyone else, be our own people. We can’t be arrested for that, can we? Being ourselves?’

‘What you are is gay, Blaine,’ she said, listening again to her phone and ignoring the small gasp that escaped his throat. ‘And gay is against the Rules.’

There was a pause as the phone rang and then the line connected. ‘Head office, this is Maree.’

‘Maree, I-’

‘Let me see her.’ The voice was Quinn’s and she was stepping through the crowd, holding baby Beth in her hands. The little girl was beautiful, her hands clinging around her mothers neck and her wide eyes surveying the room and the dark haired girl standing on their staircase. She raised a hand and waved.

‘Hello?’ It was the receptionist on the other end of the line. With wide staring eyes, Tina lowered the phone and reached for the button, pressing it and disconnecting the line.

‘What’s her name?’ she whispered, reaching out a hand. All fight had gone out of her and Quinn smiled.

‘Tina, this is Beth. Bethy, this is Tina.’ And the little girl reached out to meet Tina in the middle, clinging to her finger in what could only be described as a handshake.

She was beautiful.

* * *

 

‘There’s an abandoned bunker a few blocks from here, in a farm yard. Some people say it’s haunted but I used to play there when I was a kid. The bunker is completely stocked with tinned food and there’s a rainwater tank off the edge of the farmhouse that’s connected to it.’ Tina was animated, her finger still caught in Beth’s embrace. ‘It’s completely deserted. I’ve never seen anyone there in years.’

Blaine nodded and reached for the girl, hugging her. ‘Thank you, Tina.’

Together they walked down the stairs, Quinn and Beth close behind and the others following in their wake and carrying a large bag of diapers and baby supplies that had been sitting just inside the bedroom door.

‘You can take us there, right?’ he asked.

‘Sure,’ she said, nodding. ‘It’s easy enough to get to.’

‘And you know you can’t leave now.’ This voice was Noah’s, deep and distanced. His eyebrows were still raised at the girl, at her sudden change from enemy to friend, and simply by Beth’s appearance. It seemed insane, almost too easy, and he felt as if there was more to her than met the eye. ‘We can’t let you go. There’s no way for us to know that you’re not going to tell them where we are. We need to be safe.’

Tina nodded as if resigning herself to the fact. ‘I thought that would be the case.’

Kurt stepped forward, reaching the door and opening it. ‘Then let’s go.’

The walk to the farmhouse was a short one, and at first sight, Blaine understood what Tina had meant by “deserted”. It was less deserted and more _dilapidated._ But he could see the small raised metal circle which indicated the bunker and he pointed it out, raising the question to Tina for assurance.

‘Is that it?’

She nodded and together they slipped through the wire fence, Noah and Blaine holding it open for the girls and Kurt to slip through before jumping it themselves. The paddock was long and they padded across it. Quinn felt exposed, holding her daughter in her arms, but the grass was long, and snakes and other creepy crawlies were the enemies most likely to see them. They batted away large crisp brown blades of grass, paving a way to the bunker. Occaisonally, one of them would slip and someone else would reach for their hand, hauling them back to their feet. Even once, when Rachel fell, Santana grabbed her under the armpits and lifted her back up. 

The bunker itself, from the outside, was a simple metal dome. In one side was a rectangular door, flush with the rest of the metal but with a slight catch at the very edge which Tina reached for, hauling it above their heads so that the sixth other teenagers could slip inside, before closing it behind her.

It fitted them all, and there was enough room for them to spread out slightly. Judging the place, Blaine could only assume that each would have their own patch of ground or area to sleep. 

He glanced at Tina. ‘It’s perfect.’


	9. Chapter Eight

**Chapter Eight**

_‘Be able to be alone. Lose not the advantage of solitude, and the society of thyself.’  
_ _-Thomas Browne_  

Outside, darkness had settled over the world, but inside the bunker, they had lit candles, turning off the floodlights so that Beth would sleep. Quinn had settled her into a corner, covering her in blankets and kissed her over and over on the forehead until she had fallen asleep. The little girl was sucking her thumb and periodically, each of the teenagers would turn to watch the one year old. 

But it was in the middle of the room that they all sat, each on the concrete floor in a large circle. When they had first arrived they had spread out, each claiming spaces to sleep. There was a bunk, upper and lower, and Noah had insisted that Quinn get one of the beds if she was going to be looking after Beth. Rachel asked if she could take the other one and they all agreed, deciding that giving her what she wanted when no one else had an opinion was easier than putting up with her whining for the duration of their stay.

Blaine and Kurt had taken a patch of floor over in the corner opposite Beth, placing a blanket down as a mattress and another for warmth. Noah claimed a space of floor, and Tina drew from a small cupboard high up on level with the upper bunk, an air mattress, which she inflated and agreed to share with Santana. The latino had shook with Noah that she would keep an eye on the asian.

But now they were seated in the centre of the room in a circle on Rachel’s insistence. 

‘Now, we need to get things clear. We’re on the run now, no hiding secrets. Everyone’s going to tell the group why they’re here.’ She clasped her hands in front of her. ‘I’ll go first. My name is Rachel and I am here because I have two gay dads. I should be an Illegal, but through the work of many lovely people, I managed to get registered. But technically only one of my dads is my parent, and I’ve never met my mom.’

She motioned to Blaine beside her and nodding encouraging.

‘Hi,’ he said unnecessarily, waving to the group. ‘My name is Blaine, and I’m an alcoholic.’ There was a resounding laugh and then he smiled, almost sadly. ‘But seriously, yeah, I’m Blaine. And I’m here because I’m in love with Kurt and I’m not allowed to show it.’

Kurt raised his hand. ‘I’m Kurt, and I’m in love with Blaine, and I’m not allowed to show it either. But I’d like to propose that any and all feelings of love be allowed within this group, because I, for one, would like to hug my boyfriend in front of you all.’

Rachel grinned. ‘Good, we have a sense of order. Now, a vote.’ And she raised her hand into the air. No one followed suit. ‘What? Don’t you believe Kurt and Blaine should be allowed to express themselves in front of us?’

Santana was the one that answered. ‘What’s stopping them?’

She put her hand down quickly after that. ‘Quinn?’

A sigh fell from the blonde’s lips, and she glanced at her daughter quickly before continuing. ‘My name’s Quinn, and I have a daughter who’s an Illegal.’

Rachel smiled at her and then turned to the next person in line, Noah.

‘My name’s Noah, and I have a daughter who’s an illegal.’

Everyone turned to him, eyebrows raised except for Quinn, who only sighed again and leaned her head against her hands.

‘What?’ Rachel asked, waving her hands in front of her face. ‘I can’t believe this! Do you mean to say that- that _Beth,_ is your _daughter?_ That _you_ are the father of Quinn’s child?’

He grinned. ‘She’s not denying it, is she? I was one great lay.’

Quinn scowled. ‘You should have used a condom.’

‘I hadn’t been paid that week!’

‘Hey,’ Rachel said quickly, trying to restore order. ‘Okay, okay, let’s move on.’ Nobody turned their eyes away from Noah, instead watching him intently, scanning his face for any features that were shared in Beth’s.

‘I can see it,’ Santana said, finally, leaning back on her hands. ‘But seriously, Quinn. How could you let him screw you without a condom? I mean, he has that many randoms he could easily be carrying anything and _everything.’_

Quinn kept her head down, and whispered, ‘The only thing he was carrying was his high sperm count.’

‘Oh- _kay.’_ Rachel clapped her hands together. ‘Tina, your turn.’

Tina frowned, but spoke. ‘My name’s Tina and my parents are part of the Regime. I’ve believed in it all my life. But if they’re chasing kids like you, I don’t know whether I believe in them anymore.’ There was a collective release of breath, as if to say “good answer”. 

‘My name’s Santana and I’m here because I’m in love with my best friend.’

Noah laughed at that, a short sharp laugh.

‘Do you mean that blonde chick with the massive tits who’s dated every guy in school?’

Santana scowled, raising an angry eyebrow. ‘But I’m pretty sure I’m the only girl she’s said she loves. Unless you want to claim that position as well, Noah.’

That clammed him up quickly and Santana smirked. ‘I thought so.’

Rachel grinned, clapping her hands again. ‘Good, good. So we all know why we’re here. That’s the important part of tonight, I think. Learning about each other and the reasons that have put us here today. _Interesting,_ Noah. A good input from you, I felt. And Kurt, good job with the vote.’ Another round of silence from the group made her shut her lips firmly together, her smile faltering slightly. ‘Well, goodnight then everyone. I hope you sleep well and I’ll see you all in the morning, bright and early for a healthy breakfast of…’ She glanced behind her at the cabinet which held the cans of food. ‘Baked beans.’

There was a collective shudder from many members of the group but she was already standing up, drawing off her cardigan and placing it at the end of the top bunk bed. Her shoes came next and she placed them neatly beside the door. Everyone watched her with wide eyes. Then she drew off her shirt and skirt, leaving her only in her underwear and climbed the stairs, falling quickly into the bed. 

Noah let out a loud wolf-whistle. 

‘Shut up, Noah.’

And slowly the rest of them drifted towards their own parts of the room, stripping quickly out of clothes and down to underwear before curling up under the old fleece blankets that they had found piled in the corner of the bunker. 

* * *

 

‘Come on, Bethy,’ Quinn whispered, lifting the baby out of her spot in the corner of the room and holding her close to her chest. She was sleeping soundly, and she slid her expertly into her bunk bed, laying down next to her. The girl curled up into her body, gripping onto her loose polo shirt in her sleep. Quinn wriggled slightly to remove her school pants and kicked them to the end of the bed, careful to remain under the blanket the whole time. Noah was watching with careful and knowing eyes, and there was something disconcerting about having the teenage man whore that is your daughter’s biological father in the same room as you as you stripped off.

‘You’re so beautiful,’ she cooed, refusing adamantly to look at Noah. She only stared at her little girl’s innocent and serene face and the small thumb that curled between her lips and rested on her tongue as she sucked it. Quinn ran a finger down the smooth skin of her cheek. ‘I love you, baby.’

Beth hummed in her sleep and curled tighter. Quinn envied her for her ability to sleep in all situations, even when the world around her was falling to shambles. She could only put it down to the fact that she had lived with it all her life. She had spent her whole small existence in hiding, with the constant risk of fear.

Or perhaps she just didn’t know it, didn’t even comprehend the danger she was in. Quinn and her mother had always tried as hard as they could to ensure she lived as normal a life as possible, while being as unaware of her situation as could be. And she hoped to continue along that path. It wasn’t Beth’s fault that she was an Illegal. It was hers, and Noah’s. Noah’s for not using a damn condom. Quinn for not being able to bring herself to buy an abortion kit off the black market. None of this was Beth.

The room was completely dark when Quinn looked up again, the lights having been extinguished during her brief lapse into thought. She could barely make out Beth’s features, only feel her small breaths against her chest and the small fist entwined into her shirt.

‘Quinn?’ 

She pricked up her ear, turning slightly and searching for the sound. ‘What?’

‘It’s me. Noah.’

She groaned inwardly, pulling Beth subconsciously tighter to her. ‘What do you want?’ Her voice was barely a whisper, but so was his, and it seemed loud in her ear. He must be close, right next to the bunk bed. A hand appeared over the edge of the mattress and it shook once, open for her to take it. 

‘You should have told me about her.’

Quinn scowled. ‘She’s not your responsibility.’

There was a small pause and then he replied. ‘You don’t have to take care of her on your own.’

‘I wasn’t on my own. Not until now, anyway.’

He shook his hand again, and she batted it away, hearing the dull thud as it dropped heavily onto his chest.

‘I’m her father,’ he said finally, and she had the feeling he was staring up at the ceiling.

‘There was nothing you could give her.’

‘I could have bought something. Clothes or diapers or something.’

‘How? You’re still in school. None of us have jobs, that’s part of the Rules.’

‘My parents give me an allowance.’

Quinn raised an eyebrow even though she knew he couldn’t see it. ‘You think an allowance pays for diapers and clothes?’ she hissed. ‘That stuff’s expensive. And it would just raise questions if you were buying baby supplies. My aunty has twins, and she always bought extra and sent us some, so it was alright.’

The tension in the air was almost palpable, the urge Noah had to have been a part of Beth’s life, his hope that he could be now. And all Quinn wanted to say was _no._ But she was here now, surrounded by sixth others, and although all of them had promised to chip in and do the most they could by Beth, she knew that she’d be doing most of it herself. She was the girl’s mother after all. And maybe she _could_ give some of that responsibility to Noah, and relieve herself from it.

‘Fine,’ she said, shifting the girl in her arms and holding her out over the edge of the bed and into Noah’s immediately outstretched arms. ‘You sleep with her tonight. We’ll do it on rotation, and that way each of us can at least sleep through one night in two.’

Her took her carefully, almost hesitantly, and placed the girl next to him. She curled in quickly, leaning against his naked chest. 

‘What- what do I do?’

‘If she cries, hug her against your chest so she can hear your heartbeat. She likes that. Otherwise, I don’t know. When you have a kid, you just make it up as you go along.’ 

He sighed lightly, but he seemed to be taking as much care of Beth as he could, so Quinn rolled over, turning so she was facing the wall. 

‘Goodnight,’ she whispered. ‘Goodnight, Beth.’

‘Goodnight, Quinn,’ Noah returned. ‘And goodnight to you, too, Beth.’

* * *

 

On the other side of the room, Kurt and Blaine were curled beneath their own blanket, facing each other and staring. Quinn and Noah’s conversation had sat in their background radar, a simple hum of background noise, because all they could see was each other, the brown hazel of Blaine’s eyes and the pale, luminescent blue of Kurt’s.

‘Well, what do we do now?’ Kurt whispered, reaching out his free hand to trace the lines of Blaine’s face. The darkness was almost impenetrable, but he could still see that beautiful face, the face of the man he had fallen in love with. His other hand was caught between them, fingers intertwined with Blaine’s.

‘What do you mean?’ The younger boy’s eyes closed against the touch, a small smile crossing his face. ‘We’re here, we’re relatively safe, and I have you. What more do I need?’

Kurt smiled, but he knew better than to believe in Blaine’s glorified version of reality. No matter how amazing it would be to live in this bunker forever, there was the pressing issue of food, and clothes, and other necessary supplies. And they couldn’t live forever on the run. It was an impossible task.

‘No, Blaine, I’m serious. We’re in a bunker. On the run. Where do two boys and a group of friends go from there?’

Blaine’s dark eyes roved Kurt’s face, thoughtful, and then he leaned closer, trapping their hands even closer between them and pressing their foreheads carefully together. ‘That’s not something that we should think about,’ he murmured. ‘We should think about now. All I can think about is you, and the fact that less than fifteen minutes ago, all our friends decided that we could express ourselves in anyway we like. Do you know what that means, Kurt?’ 

The older boy shook his head, smiling at his boyfriend. ‘What, Blaine?’

He grinned. ‘I could kiss you right now, and no one would be offended, or upset, or call us in. I could kiss you right now and no one would _care.’_

There was a moment of pause, a silence in which all Kurt could do was stare at Blaine, at the shadowed curve of his lip and the way they curled up at the edges. And then he was speaking, the words dripping off his tongue almost unbidden. ‘Then why don’t you.’ It was more forward than he had ever been before, a clearly flirtatious move, but it made Blaine grin and lean towards him, pressing their lips together.

It was simple and sweet, and a warm press of skin against skin, but then Blaine was pulling back for a moment, watching him. ‘I love you,’ he whispered, and then he was kissing him again, mouth open and alive, tongue pressing against Kurt’s lips. He opened his mouth willingly, and grinned against Blaine as their tongues danced. It was intimate, personal, and something that, although they had done it before, seemed new and exciting to both of them now that they were in the presence of their friends. 

Kurt’s hand skated up Blaine’s cheek, fingers clinging gently to the skin, sliding around to the back of his neck and pulling him in tighter. A small moan escaped Blaine and Kurt reveled in it, kissing him even harder, desperate to hear that noise again.

Blaine let out a small cough and Kurt back away, smiling meekly. ‘Sorry.’

‘You didn’t have to stop, just-’ He raised his free hand gently, motioning to the other people that Kurt had almost forgotten were in the room. 

‘Right,’ Kurt whispered. ‘We’ll stop.’

Blaine smiled, and pressed his forehead against Kurt’s again. ‘I really do love you.’

‘You’ve said that already.’

‘I know,’ he replied. ‘But I worry that if we’re spending all this time together on the run, being with you will become too normal that I’ll forget to say it. And I never want being with you to be normal. I want it to be special and magical every time it happens.’

‘Being with you is always special for me,’ Kurt replied.

‘I know. But I worry that one day it won’t be.’

‘I hope it’s not soon.’

Blaine smiled, squeezing their laced hands tightly. ‘I hope so too.’

And for the first time that night, curled up against each other in their little makeshift bed, Kurt returned the words. ‘I love you, too, Blaine. So very very much.’

* * *

 

The next morning dawned bright and early, but none of the teenagers inside the bunker felt it. The darkness remained, seeping through each corner of the room, and it wasn’t until Beth’s body clock kicked in and she started crying that the rest of them woke up. 

Rachel was the first to get to the light switch, flicking it quickly and flooding the room in bright white light. Beth’s cries only doubled in volume until Quinn pulled her from Noah’s nervous grasp and cradled her close. She cooed gentle words into her ear, rocking her softly until she calmed down, and then motioned towards the bag she had placed in the corner with all of Beth’s things in it. 

‘Can someone grab me a diaper, a jar of banana baby food and the little frog doll that’s in the bag?’ she asked, and quickly, Noah rose, grabbing the bag and digging through it. No one else had even had a chance to move.

Kurt and Blaine were still curled up next to each other, the latter blinking warily up at the sudden presence of strong light, and Kurt had wrapped Blaine’s arm around himself, snuggling back into him in the hope of getting another hour’s sleep. 

‘It’s almost eleven,’ Santana finally said, sitting up on the inflatable mattress she was sharing with Tina. Her watch was in her hand, an old analog one that worked without connection to the satellites. It was only upon seeing it that everyone else reached for their electronic devices, searching for a time source. But it seemed that within that bunker, the metal kept the signals from the satellite. This was a good thing, in that no one could trace their phones. But it also meant that they were dependent on Santana’s very old watch. Which would eventually run out of batteries, no matter what they did.

But it was eleven, and that was the point that mattered. On any normal day, they would be up already, doing their chores if it was a weekend, or going through their first classes if it was a school day. And what were they doing in the bunker? Sleeping.

Noah was the first one to dress properly, having already got up off his spot on the floor to grab the supplies for Quinn, which he handed over at that moment before grabbing his shirt off the ground and tugging it over his head. 

Quinn stayed beneath the cover of her blanket, but she had kept her ugly school polo shirt on over night, and she fed Beth with the little girl sitting opposite her on the bed. She grinned and giggled, almost distracting the others as they got ready. Tina was the worst. She couldn’t keep her eyes off the girl, instead staring and staring and staring. It was only when Santana prodded her in the back that she grabbed her clothes from beside the bed and pulled them on.

‘Um,’ Rachel said from her spot at the top of the bunk. ‘I didn’t think about this last night because it wasn’t an issue then, but- um, what is there here in the way of amenities?’

Noah laughed, and so did Kurt and Blaine, happily the only males in the group. That problem was easily sorted for them.

But it was Tina that answered the question, motioning above their heads and to the right. ‘There’s a toilet in the farmhouse. It may be dangerous getting there, but it’s not too far. There may be more food there too, and clothes. I think the old owner died, and they removed his body, but that was about it. There was no one who wanted the house, and it’s just sat there ever since.’

Rachel nodded, thankful, and dashed out of her bed, pulling on her pants and shirt and following them with her shoes. ‘Anyone want to join me for an exploration trip?’

No one volunteered themselves. Instead, they all remained adamantly silent, looking anywhere but at Rachel.

‘For safety’s sake?’

With that, and a sigh, Blaine stood up, dragging Kurt with him by a hand. ‘Come on, we better help her out.’ They dressed quickly too, and then together, they carefully opened the door to the bunker, Kurt peering his head out over the lip to see if anyone was around. The farmyard looked as deserted as it had when they arrived, the long grass blocking it from view of the road. 

The house itself was just to the right of the bunker, almost directly in front of the doorway, which Blaine had closed behind them as they climbed out. It was only a short walk, across a section of slightly shorter, but still overgrown grass, and as they approached the main doorway, they saw a series of heavy workers boots lined up against the edge of the building, as if people came and went from this house on a regular basis. But they were covered in a thin sheen of dust.

The door was ajar, and Blaine pushed against it, looking warily into the house before stepping inside. Wind and rain had seemingly gotten in at some point through the open door, as the mat on the inside, presumably for wiping shoes on, was mossy and green, growing an array of moulds and fungi. 

‘Eugh,’ Rachel said, stepping over it and slipping quickly into the first room, the living room. It held a TV, an old set that was quite small, but it did have a digital box sitting on top of it, and a DVD player underneath. In a small cabinet beside the TV was a large shelf full of DVD’s. 

Blaine ran his hand along them, drawing off a thick layer of dust and grime that he proceeded to wipe onto his pants. ‘This place hasn’t been touched in a long time,’ he said, and they continued on into the kitchen.

It was no better. No food was out, but there was the lingering smell of old and mould, and Kurt reached for the pantry, pulling it open. There were bugs crawling through the clear container of flour, and a loaf of bread was resting at eye level, a sickly green colour.

‘What is there that we can salvage?’ Blaine asked, leaning over his shoulder. 

‘I think I can see some cans at the back, but I don’t want to put my hand in there. There could easily be spiders, or worse, rats.’

‘Rats aren’t worse than spiders, Kurt,’ Blaine said kindly.

‘They are vicious and considerably larger. I’m going with the rats.’

The younger boy laughed, but reached up to the shelf, standing on tip toe to see over it and grab a can from the back of the shelf. ‘Eugh, more baked beans.’

‘No soup?’

‘No.’ He shook his head with the word, bringing the can down and passing it to Kurt who placed it onto the island in the middle of the room. ‘This guy must really have liked his baked beans, because that’s all I’ve seen so far.’

Rachel had moved away some time during their conversation, slipping back down into the corridor and towards what appeared to be the bathroom. This had been her original objective after all.

The corridor was painted in a dull, mucus green, with a wainscoting of bright flowers. It was the kind of painting scheme that was supposed to look beautiful, but in reality looked like too much colour and too much floral and just _too much._

She was correct in her assumption of what was the bathroom. The floor was tiled with more floral, and the porcelain sink was chipped. In the bath, there was a layer of scum about halfway up and a small spider scuttled up the edge and over towards the cake of soap that still sat on the ledge.

‘Eugh,’ Rachel shuddered, but lifted the seat on the toilet, carefully checking it for any creepy crawlies before sitting down.

Back in the kitchen, Kurt and Blaine were gathering the last of the cans, putting them into an old plastic bag they found in a draw. There was also a case of hamburger meat in the freezer that looked as if it would never go out of date, it was that packed with preservatives, and they added that into the bag, along with bottles of long-life milk and orange juice.

The bag full, they moved out of the kitchen and across the corridor to the single bedroom. There was a large double bed in the centre of the room, and a built in wardrobe at one side, opposite the windows. Directly next to them and against the other wall was a large floor to ceiling mirror.

‘It’s a big bed,’ Blaine laughed, staring at the thing. The cover was dusty, but it truly was a giant of a bed, and one person sleeping within it would feel terribly lonely. 

He glanced at Kurt who was heading towards the wardrobe, and caught his hand, pulling him back to him. ‘Join me?’

‘What, Blaine? No! It’s all dusty and gross,’ he argued, trying to pull his hand free, but his boyfriend would have no bar of it. He pulled him backwards tighter, gripping his arms around his waist and tugging them both onto the bed.

The dust cloud rose, but it quickly settled again, only a small sneeze escaping Kurt’s nose as he laughed. ‘You really are insane, you know?’ he grinned.

‘I know.’

And for that small moment, it seemed as if they weren’t on the run, that they were just two boys, leaning against the mattress of a bed together as they shared something between them that could never be captured with images or words.

‘I love-’

‘Blaine! Kurt!’ It was Rachel, and she was coming down the corridor, opening the door. Blaine wrapped his arm comfortably around Kurt’s waist and smiled once at him before turning to Rachel where she stood in the doorway.

‘Yeah?’

‘Have you found anything?’

Kurt shrugged. ‘There was some more food that we put together, but we haven’t looked in this wardrobe yet. There might be some clothes.’

‘There’s soap in the bathroom,’ she replied. ‘And some shampoo, too. That’ll come in handy.’ She reached for the wardrobe, pulling the doors open. The space itself was divided in half, one half filled with flannel shirts and denim overalls, the other with floral skirts and loose white shirts. Rachel pulled a shirt out and checked its size. ‘All of us should fit these. They might be a bit big on Quinn, because she’s so skinny, and a bit long on me, but they’ll be fine.’

Kurt nodded, leaning against Blaine. The contact between them was like fire, and there was a part of Kurt that wished Rachel would just _leave_ already. But he knew that whenever she chose to do so, she’d likely request that they go with her, back to the bunker, and then there was nothing they could do.

‘Come on, Kurt,’ Rachel said. ‘Help me with these. There’s a suitcase down here, and we’ll just pack them all into that and drag them out to the bunker.’

He grudgingly stood up and began to help her, carefully folding jeans and shirt while she did the same to skirts.

Blaine stood up too, but didn’t approach the wardrobe. Instead he headed towards the door of the room and stepped out into the corridor. ‘I’m going to check and see if there’s a washing machine somewhere. It would be nice if we could keep our clothes clean.’

He stepped out of the bedroom, shooting a final smile back at Kurt before closing the door and moving quickly down the corridor. He passed the bathroom, slipping inside for a moment to grab the soap Rachel had been talking about and placing it within another plastic bag. The house seemed to have no limit to its plastic bags, piles of them in every cupboard or drawer. It was as if every grocery bag the previous owners had ever used had been retained and folded into a small circle of plastic for use at a later date.

Blaine was only glad that it allowed him to gather supplies and take them back to the others in the bunker.

Clearing the bathroom of soaps, he moved out again, heading further towards the back of the house. There was a wooden door, with a glass panel at head height, that seemed to lead out into the back garden, and just beside it, another door, with no handle, but a spring on the roof. He pushed it open with his palm and it swung back into place behind him as he stepped through.

It was the laundry. His instincts had been right. There was a washing machine, and a drier above it, and to the left of them both, a metal wash tub. There was even a large packet of washing detergent next to the sink.

‘Success,’ he murmured to himself. There was another bottle of fabric softener and when he turned the tap, there was definitely hot water.

There was nothing left to do there, and he left the laundry, carrying the bag of bathroom supplies and heading back towards the bedroom. Kurt and Rachel had quickly filled the suitcase with clothes and were just zipping it up, the short girl sitting above it while Kurt pulled it closed.

‘Hey, I found a washing machine and a drier in the laundry. We can definitely come up and use it, I think. It should be all working.’

‘Oh, great!’ Rachel smiled, climbing down off the suitcase and helping Kurt to lift it off the bed. ‘And I see you grabbed the soap.’

‘Mhm.’ He held up the bag, backing out of the room as Kurt and Rachel wheeled the suitcase out behind him. Down the corridor they went, back through the house and towards the kitchen, and as they passed, Rachel now in full control of the suitcase, Kurt grabbed the bag of food goods from the island. 

‘Are we done?’ he asked. ‘Have you peed already?’

‘Done and done,’ she smiled, and Blaine nodded, opening the door. It was only by a crack and he peered his head round the corner, eyeing the paddock for any sign of movement or life. It was perfectly still, not even the wind moving the blades of grass and he nodded to Kurt and Rachel before opening the door fully, and together, they ran for the bunker.

It was as simple as that.

* * *

 

The following days passed in relative simplicity. The bunker was a good place for them; it was safe, sound proof and bomb proof, and each and every one of them felt untouchable within it’s walls. Beth was placable enough, only needing regular diaper changes and feeding. Slowly, a small pile of used diapers developed outside the door of the bunker, far enough away that no one could smell it. Quinn had been sure to catch them quickly, before the smell had wafted throughout the bunker.

Each meal time, they prepared bowls of baked beans, which they quickly became sick of, but it was a staple that they had plenty of. Every so often, someone would raise the idea of going into town and buying actual food but someone would tell them it wasn’t a good idea, that they could get spotted, or when they scanned their ID card to pay, flags would be raised immediately. 

They lost track of time. Santana’s clock kept them in the right wake-sleep pattern, but it was only two or three days into their stay in the bunker when Tina raised the question, ‘Is it Monday or Tuesday?’

Nobody could answer her with any certainty.

‘It’s Monday, I think.’

‘I could have sworn it was Tuesday.’

‘I would have said it was Sunday.’

Breakfast was the same as lunch, and the same as dinner, and the most it ever did was put food in their bellies. It wasn’t until they decided it was worth another trip into the house to wash clothes, that something happened. 

It was Blaine and Kurt that went, Blaine volunteering himself because he knew where the washing machine and drier were, and Kurt refusing to let him go alone. Opening the door of the bunker, they slipped out of it quickly, hardly bothering to look around the paddock at the brown grass. It had stayed the same every time they’d been outside, only swaying lightly in the changing breeze. In Kurt’s hand, he carried a bag full of shirts and jeans, his grip on the plastic loose.

His other hand gripped Blaine’s and together they walked the small distance to the house. The door opened easily under their touch, and they slipped inside. It seemed cleaner than when they last came inside, but neither of them noticed that the layer of dust had gone, that the house was _clean._ All they cared about was each other, and getting to the laundry and cleaning the clothes in Kurt’s hand.

Blaine squeezed Kurt’s hand tight before letting go, reaching for the clothes and emptying them into the washing machine. They were followed close after by the detergent and fabric softener and he pressed a few buttons, turning the machine on and setting it to run.

‘What now?’ he asked, turning to Kurt. The older boy was leaning against the wall, arms crossed against his chest.

‘I don’t know.’ He raised and eyebrow, and Blaine had the feeling that he knew more than just _I don’t know._ He had an idea of what he wanted.

‘We haven’t had much time to just be around each other in private, not stuck in the bunker with that lot.’

‘They’re a good lot of friends, Kurt.’

He nodded, agreeing. ‘Yeah, but there’s no privacy. Can’t we just be together, in private, while we wait for this thing to wash?’

‘You want to just… be together?’

Kurt bit his lip and reached for Blaine’s hand, pulling him closer. ‘Come on.’ Together, they left the laundry, Kurt tugging Blaine along until they reached the bedroom, pulling him down onto the large double bed. 

Lips pressed hard against skin, rough kisses, punctuated every so often by a light gasp or a sudden sweet gesture of fingertips against skin. ‘I love you,’ Blaine whispered, and his voice was husky and raw, the words pressed against Kurt’s earlobe, his jawline and his neck. ‘I’m never leaving you. You can never go anywhere.’

Kurt’s back arched beneath Blaine’s caress, pushing closer towards him. ‘Never,’ he returned, gasping. ‘Never going anywhere.’

And then it was like a switch was turned off. Kurt curled in upon himself, drawing Blaine down on top of him, but all intimacy was gone, all emotion suddenly drained from the room. ‘Blaine,’ he hissed.

‘What?’

‘There- there’s a camera.’

The younger boy lifted himself up on his elbows, separating himself from Kurt. ‘What do you mean?’

‘There,’ he hissed. ‘Up above the mirror. It wasn’t there before, but it’s there now.’

Blaine covered Kurt’s body with his, pressing their foreheads together. ‘What do we do?’ he whispered.

‘We destroy the camera, get back to the bunker, and get out of here.’

‘Where do we go?’ The clothes in the washing machine were long since forgotten. All that Blaine could think about was getting out of there, getting Kurt safe, and what the presence of the camera meant. 

‘I don’t know.’

‘How do we destroy it?’

‘I think I saw a crowbar in the wardrobe.’

Blaine stepped off the bed, drawing Kurt with him, holding him close as he reached into the wardrobe. He didn’t want the camera to see Kurt’s face, to pick him up and show his picture to the Officers, to send his face across the country and across the world. They were on the run, and having his face on camera was not going to help the cause at all. 

The crowbar was there, just as Kurt had seen it, laying against the bottom of the wardrobe. Blaine grabbed it loosely in his hand, shifting its weight to get a good angle and a good grip. And then he turned, quickly swinging it up and over his head to hit at the camera. It connected on the first blow, but it was only glancing, cracking the screen, and he swung again, smashing it into small pieces. He dropped the crowbar to the floor and crumpled, hitting the ground with it.

‘Blaine, are you okay?’ Kurt asked, reaching his slender arms around his shoulders, holding him back towards him. He pressed gentle kisses against Blaine’s ear, the side of his face. ‘I love you. You’re going to be fine. _We’re_ going to be fine.’  

And Blaine knew it, but just the weight of the crowbar, the adrenalin that pumped through his veins, made him realise that this was _real._ That they were on the run, that they were a threat, that they were _in danger._ ‘ _Kurt,’_ he whined, voice high and broken.

‘I know, Blaine, but we need to go. We need to move.’ He slid his arms under Blaine’s, lifting him off the ground. ‘Come on,’ he breathed. ‘Walk for me, Blaine.’ 

And then, as simple as that, as simple as those few words, Blaine’s adrenalin was coming back to him. He gripped Kurt’s hand tight in his. ‘Okay,’ he whispered. ‘Let’s go.’

And together they ran, dancing through the long brown grass towards the bunker. They reached down to lift it up quickly, drawing it above their heads and ducking inside.

‘We need to go,’ they said together in one breath. ‘They’re onto us.’


	10. Chapter Nine

**Chapter Nine**

_‘I know the meaning of those nineteen years,  
_ _A slave of the law!’  
_ _-Jean Valjean, ‘Les Miserables’_

‘What are you talking about?’

‘This place is a fortress!’

‘How could anyone get in here?’

The general atmosphere of the bunker as Kurt and Blaine stood in the doorway, dropping the door closed behind them, was utter disbelief. It seemed improbable, illogical, impossible. This place was easy and simple. They were safe there. 

And now they weren’t.

‘I don’t know how they know we’re here,’ Kurt said quickly, reaching for the bag of food they’d kept beside the door, handing it to Noah. ‘But they know, and we need to leave.’

‘Where can we go?’ It was Quinn, her voice anxious as she lifted Beth higher onto her shoulder, rocking her gently. ‘If they’ve found us here, there’s nowhere in this town that’s safe. And how do we get anywhere else? It’s all too far to walk, and there’s no way we can take public transport.’

Noah raised his hand. ‘I thought I saw an old car out in the paddocks behind us. I don’t know if it has gas, but it’s a vehicle.’

‘I saw fuel inside the house,’ Kurt added. ‘But I don’t want to go back in there. Not now that I know someone’s been in there, going through it and planting cameras.’

‘I’ll go.’ Santana stood, straightening her skirt and motioning towards Tina. ‘You come with me, Asian. We’ll get the fuel and the car, and then we’ll meet you all out there.’

‘I’ll get everything together,’ Rachel said quickly, and started immediately. No one could move except for her. All they could do was stand and stare, Quinn rocking Beth softly. 

‘Let’s go then,’ Blaine said finally. ‘We need to get out of here.’

And like that, it was a flurry of action. 

Quinn rushed towards the bag full of Beth’s things, lifting it over her shoulder and head before putting the girl down for a moment to help with Noah, who was deflating and rolling up the mattress Santana and Tina had been sharing. The two girls in question where quick out the door, closing it tight behind them.

Kurt slipped across the room, joining Rachel, who was packing the food they had spread out back into bags. 

‘My God,’ she whispered. ‘This is really happening. This is what being on the run feels like.’

Kurt nodded, but couldn’t speak. All he could do was methodically move the cans into bags. He felt exposed, violated, as if that camera that had sat in the room had seen into his soul. And in a way it had. It had observed, with its mechanical eye, his and Blaine’s relationship, the intimacy they had shared on that bed in that stupid bedroom. 

‘Are you okay?’ Rachel asked, pressing into his side lightly, the grim look never leaving her face. ‘You look pretty shaken.’

‘I feel pretty shaken,’ he hissed. ‘They’re onto us. That kind of thing shakes a guy up.’ He paused, gnawing anxiously on his lip. Finally, he spoke. ‘I get that you don’t get it, Rachel. You weren’t there. It doesn’t seem the same to you, and I can never expect it to. But it’s terrifying, and I’m still terrified. What if something happens to one of us?’ He paused again, lowering his voice so Blaine, on the other side of the room, wouldn’t hear him. ‘What if something happens to _Blaine?’_

‘It’ll be fine,’ she replied, but Kurt knew better. There was no assurance that anything would ever be fine again. Not when they were on the run. Not when the threat of the Officers and the Regime was so _real._ Not until this was over would there be any certainty that they would be fine. And even then, who knew? One of them could get killed in a freak accident, and just the same, everyone would be going to the funeral.

The only difference would be the setting. One death, a dusty hole in the ground, another, a grassy knoll on a hillside, with a service and flowers. That’s all that being safe meant. Being safe meant being assured a beautiful funeral.

Kurt pressed a hand to his eyes, breathing deeply. He could feel the tears prickling there, threatening to fall, but there was no way he would let them. Not here, not now. Not with Blaine watching him carefully as if he was fragile and could snap at any moment. Not with Rachel beside him with pity in her eyes. Not with Officers staring at snow on a computer screen and sending their men to find them.

‘Kurt,’ Blaine called out, and then he was beside him, drawing him into his arms and pressing his head into his shoulder. ‘Hey, hey, it’s okay. You’re _allowed_ to be upset.’

Rachel stared at them in shock, her hands moving absently against the cans, continuing to pack but attention drawn so far from it that she almost didn’t notice when she started packing empty air. 

Tears streamed down Kurt’s face, unable to be controlled anymore, not when Blaine’s arms were warm around him, holding him close.

‘Don’t go anywhere,’ he whispered, an echo of their conversation the night before. ‘Don’t you dare go anywhere.’

Blaine gripped their hands together, pressing them towards Kurt’s heart. ‘I’m never leaving you.’ And Kurt could only cry harder, because that small gesture meant so much more than the physical. So much more than _I will promise to always be in this world, next to you._ It said _Even if I don’t survive this, I will always be here, in your heart. I will never leave you when you love me._

‘Come on,’ Blaine murmured into Kurt’s hair. ‘We’ve got to go.’

And he was right. Kurt blinked back his tears, pulling away from Blaine and leaving only their hands connected. Noah and Quinn were standing at the door, bags in hands. Quinn was carrying Beth on one hip, the girls toys and diapers slung over her shoulder while her free hand held a bag of blankets. Both Noah’s hands were filled with the mattress and blankets.

Rachel quickly joined them, carrying the bags of food in her hands. It looked ridiculous, one short girl holding four bags of canned baked beans. Kurt reached to grab one but she tore it from his grasp.

‘No,’ she whispered, staring at Kurt and Blaine’s clasped hands. ‘I’m carrying it.’

And like that, the group of five slipped through the door. 

* * *

 

The car was parked to the side of the bunker. It was a big hunk of metal and wheels, and Santana was sitting at the helm. 

‘Get in,’ she called out, motioning with one hand. Her foot was on the accelerator, revving gently, and Noah quickly climbed into the backseat, throwing his bags of blankets over the shelf and into the open trunk. 

‘How do we fit seven of us in here?’ Rachel asked, raising an eyebrow as she passed her own bags of food into Noah and through into the back.

‘You get on each others knees,’ Santana said. ‘Quinn gets a seat to herself, because Beth will be on her knee. I get one to myself because I’m driving. Midget, get on top of Asian in the front. And Kurt and Blaine will take the last seat.’

Rachel shot Noah a glare, the only one of them who hadn’t been mentioned. He shrugged his shoulders, but was grinning slightly. He was happy to have a seat to himself. Quinn took the middle spot, with Beth on her knee, and Blaine and Kurt rushed quickly to the other side of the car, Blaine climbing in and motioning for Kurt to climb on top. It was cramped, but simple. 

For Blaine and Kurt, at least, it provided the most contact available to them in the car. Blaine pressed his arms tight around Kurt’s middle, holding him back into the seat and tight flush against his skin. His chin rested on the older boy’s shoulder and he pressed a small kiss into the skin of his neck. ‘Are you okay?’ he whispered again. 

Kurt nodded, barely perceptible to anyone except Blaine as the car took off, Santana maneuvering it around the shape of the house and the bunker, towards a gate she had spotted in the paddock. It lead to the road, and she pressed her foot tight to the accelerator, steering with expert precision.

‘Where did you learn to drive?’ Noah asked, leaning over the edge of the seat. 

‘My mom taught me.’

He raised an eyebrow. ‘I mean, awesome. Very awesome skill, but who _drives_ nowadays. Isn’t it a bit old fashioned? Public transports kind of the way to go.’

She shook a hand at him over her shoulder. ‘If I hadn’t learnt to drive, where would we be now? Learning how to change gears in a hurry, that’s where.’ She spun the wheel, turning out onto the main road. ‘And who do you think drives the public transport? Robots?’

‘Officers,’ he said immediately.

‘Yeah, and they’re people. They have to learn to drive just like anyone.’ She was pushing the speed limit, but her control of the vehicle was impeccable. In the back, Beth was giggling, holding her hands out in front of her as she bounced upon her mother’s knee.

‘Where do we head now?’ Rachel asked, staring ahead at the road. ‘Where is there to go?’

Santana pressed her lips together tightly. ‘We drive until we can’t drive anymore, and then we stop. That’s where we’ll stay the night.’

She looked in her review mirror for an argument, but none was given. Quinn was holding tightly to Beth’s waist, deep in thought. Noah only stared out the window. Kurt and Blaine were too absorbed in sharing a whispered conversation and Rachel and Tina had nothing to argue.

‘It’s a plan then,’ she said, and floored it as she reached the edge of town.

* * *

 

The past few days in Kurt’s household had been tense. There was a constant sense of treading on water, of not wanting to make the wrong move. Without him there, Burt was short with his stepson, shooting him glancing looks that felt like harsh blows. Carole would sometimes lay a hand on his shoulder and whisper something into his ear, but still Finn felt as if he had done something wrong, as if he had somehow let them down.

He didn’t see how it was his fault. Rachel and Kurt had left of their own accord. It wasn’t him that had told them to run away. 

But for some reason, Burt seemed to blame him. He’d mentioned the ruckus in the hallway and lines the day they’d ran, how the men had come for them. How, somehow, the six of them had escaped and now they hadn’t been heard from. 

‘You _should_ have gone after them!’ Burt had yelled. ‘You should have done right by your brother! And your _girlfriend!_ You claim you love that Rachel girl and then you just let her go? You _should have run after them.’_

And Finn didn’t get it. Because if he had ran after them, he’d be in the same boat. Taken, or worse, _dead._ He might be with them, watching their backs, but whatever was happening to them now, whatever they were being put through, he would be the same.

‘Should I just give myself up then?’ he said. ‘Tell them I’m associated and get carted away with Kurt and Rachel and Blaine? Should I do that?’ He was desperate for Burt to tell him, to give him an answer, something he wanted him to do rather than simply that awful sense of disappointment.

‘Do you seriously think they’re in the control of the Regime right now? Do you seriously think your brother would have given up that easily?’

Finn shook his head because it was true, he couldn’t see Kurt giving up. But he couldn’t see how he could possibly be going against the Regime, how he could possibly have survived.

‘I love your mom, Finn, but sometimes you really are an idiot,’ Burt muttered and walked away, not even looking back at the dumbstruck boy he left behind him.

* * *

 

The highway zoomed past the sides of the car, the wind whipping in through the open windows where it curled around and twisted Santana’s hair into a tight knot in front of her face. The sun was starting to go down, red on the horizon, and Beth was falling asleep against Noah’s lap.

‘We’d better pull over soon,’ Tina said, breaking a silence that had filled the car for the past hour or so. They were in the middle of nowhere, somewhere between towns and surrounded on all sides by empty farmland. Like at the bunker, the grass was brown and dead but tall, reaching to their waists.

‘There,’ Rachel added, pointing towards a paddock to their left. There was a gate near them, and Santana swung off the road, bumping over the uneven ground before pulling to a stop in front of the gate. 

‘Someone open it for me,’ she said, leaning against her door. No one moved. ‘Anyone?’

With a sigh, Noah lifted Beth’s head from his lap, opening his door and slipping out. In seconds he jogged to the gate and lifted the chain. It was a simple enough gate to push open, only grass barring its simple passage out of the way of Santana’s vehicle. 

She turned into the paddock, steering carefully around the posts and Noah before stopping to let him close the gate and climb back in. It had been a simple entrance, but glancing in the rearview mirror, Santana had worries. The grass had been flattened where the cars tires had driven over it, and she was sure it would only continue on into the paddock, where the grass was considerably longer.

‘Someone will have to come back out later,’ she muttered, not caring who heard or who didn’t. ‘We need to make it look like we’re not here.’

‘It’s only one night,’ Noah replied, climbing back into his seat.

‘Yeah, one night in which they could find us.’ It was Kurt that spoke, leaning his head against the window as his hands clung to Blaine’s arms, which were curled around his waist. ‘If they found us at the bunker, they will find us here, if we let them.’

He glanced at the girls in the front seat, who had turned around to join their conversation. In the back, Beth was stirring, but she was still mostly compliant, and Quinn held her tightly. 

‘We cover our tracks,’ he said quickly. ‘We find a large tree or something to park underneath, so anybody overhead won’t be able to see the car or us. Quinn and Beth can sleep in the car where it’s warmer. And everyone else will find a blanket and a soft patch of ground. It’s the best we can do.’

His face was stony, emotionless. ‘We don’t want them on us again,’ he said finally, and like that, he turned back to the window, leaning against Blaine’s shoulder. 

Santana, Rachel and Tina turned back around, the former directing the car away from the gate and towards a patch of trees midway through the paddock. 

Tensions were already beginning to fray, and they’d been in this mess only a few long, lazy days. It was going to prove a challenging experience.

Santana sighed and pulled the car up under the shade of the tree, turning off the engine and settling back into her seat. ‘Honey, we’re home.’


	11. Chapter Ten

**Chapter Ten**

_‘If you ask what is the single most important key to longevity, I would have to say it is avoiding worry, stress and tension. And if you didn’t ask me, I’d still have to say it.’  
_ _-George Burns_

They never meant to get on each other’s nerves. It was a slow transition, one from friendship and group solidarity to loose ends and fraying tempers. With each other, each member of the group became withdrawn, providing only biting answers to the necessary questions, and never once opting to start a conversation. Their original discussion of why they had joined what they now almost considered a “mission” seemed like a distant memory, something that shouldn’t have happened, shouldn’t have been possible.

Quinn and Beth were a pair, never straying from each others sides, as seemed perfectly normal to the rest of the group. It was the addition of Noah to this little family unit that concerned most of them. Santana was worried about what he was using her for. She had been one of the many girls he’d slept with in his rounds, and she knew better than to give your heart up easily to Noah.

But she wasn’t sure Quinn knew that so well. The girl, before disappearing for those six months to carry and give birth to Beth, was a loud, almost bossy individual. She had many friends, and was in with the popular crowd that Santana and Brittany had called home. She could almost have been considered their leader until that small hiatus from school. 

Since then, she had come back a different person. Now she was reserved, gentle, and as yet hadn’t spoken a truly bad word about anyone. Sure, she sometimes snapped at Rachel, but everyone snapped at Rachel, so it wasn’t a true comparison. She seemed more fragile, much more easy to break, and Santana worried that perhaps Noah knew this.

And perhaps he knew that if he let her, the girl would fall in love with him. He _was_ the father of her child after all. Maybe that was what he wanted.

Kurt and Blaine were another pair. It seemed only each other’s company could be enough for them. When talking with anyone else, they were a team, or else they were both snarky and judgmental, Kurt most so. It seemed that without Blaine, his fuse was incredibly short. Everything was just one more thing that could get them caught by the Officers and the Regime.

And maybe it was just that he was more invested than the others, more desperate for a solution and the freedom to express himself. But Santana was in the same boat, loving someone and not being able to show it, and she never seemed as angry as Kurt. But then, she wondered, perhaps that was just her. Perhaps no one batted an eyelid because she was _always_ angry. Because she and Brittany had never been able to manage to make it work. Not like Kurt and Blaine had.

Then, the final pair was Tina and Santana herself. They stuck together only because the latino had taken it upon herself to keep an eye on the other girl. She still was unsure about her intentions, and there was no way in hell she was letting her wander and do what she wanted, when what she wanted could be an easy connection to the Regime, and an opportunity to call them in.

Rachel was another enigma. Unlike everyone else, she hadn’t seemed to find someone to connect to, or a place to fit in. Even when everyone was in it together, they also seemed so separated, but she the most of them all. Outside of meal times, when they were sleeping, or talking quietly, she would always sit alone, simply whispering to herself and writing things in the dirt or on her pants in an imaginary pen. Sometimes, she would begin humming, and at night, when everyone was supposed to be sleeping, Santana swore she’d heard her whisper a name. _Finn._

It was a curious dynamic their group had. And although it worked, and together they all managed to survive, Santana wondered if it would only be a matter of time before they imploded.

* * *

‘Here,’ Noah said, holding out a spoon to Beth’s lips. ‘Eat, baby. You need food.’ 

The little girl pursed her lips, refusing to open up for the boy, and Quinn sighed, reaching for the bowl. ‘You clearly don’t have the right technique,’ she said. ‘Beth likes airplanes.’ She spun the spoon, curling it around in circles until the baby opened her mouth and she placed the spoon inside it. Quinn couldn’t help but smile, the thought curling her lips up at the corners and revealing a thin line of white teeth.

Noah couldn’t help staring at her. _Both of them._ They were beautiful, mother and daughter. And not just physically. Their dynamic was amazing, the way Quinn always seemed to know exactly what Beth needed, without even the slightest prompting. She could seemingly read her body language before she’d even made it. It was like they were connected in the brain, some kind of mind reading trick that he wished he could emulate, if only so he could take Beth off Quinn’s hands for some small amount of time. 

But whenever he offered and she agreed, he had the little girl for a few moments before she began crying, or he did something wrong, and Quinn would hurry over again, lifting her daughter over her shoulder and rocking her softly. 

And that was another trick Noah had tried, to no avail. Apparently he didn’t rock her right, or his shoulder was the wrong shape. Sometimes he wondered if it would have been an issue if he had been in her life from the beginning, if he had been able to raise her with Quinn. Would she respond to him the same way she did to her mother, or would his position as “father” forever limit him to hopeful glances and somewhat comforting hums?

He did make a good pillow, he’d learned. Whenever Beth fell asleep, she would loll to the side, normally into Noah’s lap, and she never stirred from there unless there was a loud noise, or she had completely had enough of sleep. And every time it happened, he would sit staring at her; at the fall of her hair across her face, or the rise and fall of her tiny chest, and Quinn would look at him with a look that almost bordered on pride. 

He wasn’t sure what he was doing. Not with Quinn and Beth, not against the Regime, not any of it. He was just winging it, in the most simplest sense of the term. He was heading into the fray with no plan, just following a girl and her hazel eyed daughter.

And he wasn’t even sure why he was doing it.

There was a plate of baked beans in his hand that had been passed to him by Rachel and he gave it to Quinn. ‘Eat up,’ he said. ‘Beth seems full.’

She frowned, but nodded slowly and lifted Beth off where she had been sitting on the edge of the car seat.

‘I’ll change her diaper,’ Noah volunteered and picked her up, balancing her carefully on his hip. Quinn watched them pensively, but agreed.

‘Thank you.’

‘No problem.’

He placed Beth, who was now gurgling quietly, onto the hood of the car, joining her seconds later with a diaper in his hand. 

‘Come on, gorgeous,’ he murmured and slipped her small pants down around her ankles, undoing the straps on her dirty diaper and changing it quickly. The stench released into the air around them and he curled up his nose in disgust. ‘You stink, baby.’

The little girl giggled and reached out her hands. The new nappy on, Noah met her hand with his and she curled her small fingers around his thumb.

‘I’m staring to think you’d be a good father.’

He turned around and came face to face with Quinn, standing directly in front of him. The plate of baked beans hung loosely from her hand, half eaten.

‘What do you mean?’

She pursed her lips thoughtfully. ‘I never know what to think about you. You’re a known sleaze, but with me, you seem to try so hard. Sometimes, I wonder if you’re just trying to get into my pants, or if you actually have feelings for me, but then I see you with Beth and I kind of get it. You have feelings for her.’

‘What?’ he said, his voice dark and a small bark escaping from his throat in a scoff. ‘I have feelings for my own spawn? How sick are you?’

It was a joke, and she smiled lightly. ‘You do have feelings for her. They’re not romantic feelings, but you love her. It’s only a been a few days and you love her.’ She looked down at the little girl and tickled her belly lightly. ‘She has that affect on people.’

‘Will I ever be free of it?’ The words escaped from Noah’s lips before he had the chance to stuff them back in. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said quickly, rectifying his mistake. ‘I mean, she’s absolutely beautiful. Why would I want to be free from that?’

Quinn almost laughed. It was a sight he couldn’t remember having seen in a long time, not a real proper laugh from her throat. ‘I get what you mean. I worry about her so much, about what life will be like for her. She’s only young now, but if the Regime sticks up, she’ll never be able to get an education, or a job. Not unless I can wrangle something like Rachel’s parents seem to have done. All I can do is hope that someone can make a difference before she’s old enough to realise, whether it’s us or someone else.’ She paused, chewing on her bottom lip. ‘Sometimes I wish that I wasn’t her mother, that I hadn’t let you knock me up two years ago. If I’d made sure you wore a condom, I wouldn’t have to deal with her. But I also wouldn’t have her in my life.’

‘I’m sorry about that,’ he said. ‘I learnt my lesson from you. Constantly carry one in my pocket now, ever since you took that six months off.’

She raised an eyebrow at him. 

‘What? I had suspicions.’

‘But do you get what I mean? I’m worried that things will be bad for her and for us, but I love her and I never want to lose her at the same time. It’s such an awful contradiction, and I sometimes think about what my life would be like now if I’d been able to stand up and get the drugs for an abortion.’

It was Noah’s turn to raise an eyebrow.

‘My mom found someone willing to sell us stuff through the black market. I couldn’t do it.’

He nodded and glanced back at the little girl, at how close she had come to losing her life. If he hadn’t left his condoms at home that day, she wouldn’t even be here.

‘I’m actually kind of glad sometimes that you’re such a sleaze,’ she said and grinned, lifting Beth off the hood of the car and walking away, leaving him holding onto a stinking diaper and glancing at thin air. It had been an odd conversation.

* * *

 

In the tall building in the centre of New York, commonly known as the Control Building, a series of higher level Officers were staring at a computer screen. From the angle of the satellite at this point in time - and they were wary that the connection would be lost within the next half an hour - all they could see in the paddock was a large tree. It spanned a large area, and there was nothing to be seen for miles around, but someone had reported a disturbance off the side of the road, a bend in the grass that hadn’t been there before. And it was a deserted yard, used previously for cattle but now impossibly empty. 

Except now, on the satellite, there was no evidence of such a disturbance. The site was perfect, each blade of grass sticking up dead straight and no mysterious pathways that may indicate some kind of vehicle or even footprints.

‘I swear they must be there,’ one man said, leaning over the back of the seat in front of him to get a closer look. His workmate in the seat shook his hand lightly. 

‘I say if they’re there, they’re going to have to reveal themselves eventually. Might as well wait until they move instead of sending someone in when it might have been nothing. They’re only kids after all.’

‘Yes, but they seem to be pretty smart. We don’t know what they’re capable of, and we don’t really know what they’re planning.’

The man scoffed. ‘What can they really be up to? They’re _kids.’_

But the rest of the room only turned back to the monitor, observing the tree as if it was a matter of life or death.

* * *

 

Soon after dinner, the small group separated, although there was no way to say that they were acting as a cohesive group during dinner either. Their small cliques kept to themselves, and Rachel had eaten her customary half tin of baked beans by herself, receiving sympathetic glances from Santana and Tina. On the other side of the tree, leaning against the hardwood and bark, were Kurt and Blaine. They ate much slower than the others, sharing from one plate and discussing the situation between themselves. It seemed nowadays that all they discussed was their situation and what they were going to do about it.

Sometimes, it was about their relationship, their future, but always in the context of the Regime and what they were going to do about it. And although it happened automatically, and there was nothing either of them could really do to avoid it, not when it was on them so thoroughly, both of them wished that they could just talk about something _normal._ Something to do with anything but the Regime, or their fugitive status.

‘Let’s talk about something different,’ Blaine murmured, taking Kurt’s free hand. ‘I’m sick of the Regime. It’s all we talk about.’

‘What do you want to talk about then?’ Kurt asked. ‘The colour of the grass? The weather?’

‘You look beautiful today.’

‘Why thank you,’ he replied, but his voice was dark with sarcasm. ‘So do you, darling, so do you.’

‘I’m serious, Kurt. And not just about the fact that you’re beautiful. I want, for just one night, to forget the Regime and to forget the future. I want tonight to be about the _now_ and the present, and making the most of it.’

‘We’re in the middle of a field, hiding under a tree, and sleeping outdoors. That’s so much to be making the most of.’

‘Stop being gloomy.’ Blaine lifted the hand twisted through Kurt’s fingers and brought it to his face. ‘I love you. That’s something to make the most of.’

‘Yeah, but we can’t show it. Not properly.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because-’ But there was no reply to that. They’d taken the vote, talked to the group, and no one had any real complaints.

‘See,’ Blaine said simply. ‘I can show you how much I love you.’

‘And how do you propose to do that?’ Kurt asked.

The younger boy grinned wickedly. ‘There’s another large tree, slightly smaller than this one, about fifteen minutes walk from here, I think. How about we let the others know that we’ll be sleeping over there, and take some blankets?’

‘Sleeping, eh?’

Another wicked grin. ‘If that’s what you want to call it.’

* * *

 

‘Damn it,’ the Officer in the control building that leaned against the chair said, ‘We’ve lost them.’ The image on the screen was now a haze of black and white snow. 

‘It’s fine,’ one of the other Officers replied. ‘We’ll catch them eventually. They’ll have to slip up at some point, and we’ll know when they do.’


	12. Chapter Eleven

**Chapter Eleven**

_‘When you fall in love, it is a temporary madness. It erupts like an earthquake, and then it subsides. And when it subsides, you have to make a decision. You have to work out whether your roots have become so interwined together that is inconceivable that you should ever part. Because this is what love is. Love is not breathlessness, it is not excitement, it is not the desire to mate every second of the day. It is not lying awake at night imagining that he is kissing every part of your body. No, don’t blush. I am telling you some truths. For that is just being in love; which any of us can convince ourselves we are. Love itself is what is left over, when being in love has burned away.’  
_ _-Louis de Bernieres, ‘Captain Corelli’s Mandolin’_  

Their new tree was much, much smaller than the others in the area. It sat alone, a good distance from the rest and Kurt and Blaine walked to it in silence, their hands linked together. It was something simple, the linkage of their hands, a sign that they could share a relationship based solely on handholding. It was an odd idea to any of the others in the group, it seemed, because they always gave them raised eyebrows, especially in a moment when the others would consider kissing. Sometimes, it seemed more natural to Kurt and Blaine just to hold hands. Kisses were meant for something special, something more than just _I feel like it._ Kisses should be _I want to,_ and _it means something._ And that was how it was for the two of them.

But now, heading towards the tree and with Blaine whispering in his ear, Kurt couldn’t help but raise their linked hands to his lips and kiss each knuckle softly.

‘Are you a hundred percent sure about this?’ Blaine was asking, unbelievably close, intoxicatingly close. ‘I mean, I know I am, and I want this, but I never want to rush you into anything you don’t want or don’t feel you’re ready for. So are you sure?’

Kurt only kissed those knuckles again. ‘Why would I not be sure?’

‘I don’t know. Because- because-’

‘Because I’m older? Because I’m wiser? I think those are reasons that _you_ would not be sure, Blaine.’

The younger boy laughed. ‘Good point.’ They were reaching the tree, and Blaine threw the blankets they’d brought with them to the ground, spreading them carefully against the grass. ‘Does it look comfortable?’

Kurt smiled. ‘Very.’

‘Okay.’ He held out a hand, motioning for the boy to take it and together they sat down. ‘I don’t know how to start this, but before we start can I tell you how much you mean to me? How much I love you?’

He bit his lip, refraining a giggle. ‘Of course you can, but you do tell me a lot, so I’m pretty sure I’ve got the gist of it about now.’

Blaine peppered kisses along his jaw, leaning over him and pressing one knee into the grass on one side of Kurt’s hip, leaving the other where it had been on the other side. ‘I love you, Kurt. You are everything to me. You mean the world, and I’m never letting you go.’

They were simple words, the same things he’d said many times over, but this time, they seemed warmer, more intimate, as his lips trailed over the skin and bone of Kurt’s jaw, down his neck and pushing away the collar of his shirt to gain more access.

‘This,’ he whispered, his voice husky and dark as he tugged at the material. ‘This should come off.’

Kurt nodded and pulled Blaine’s hand, tugging it down to his waist where his shirt was tucked into his pants. ‘Take it off, then,’ he breathed.

‘Just-’

‘Yeah.’ He guided the hand, watching with wide, pupil blown eyes as Blaine’s fingers curled into the soft material and together they tucked, freeing it from the tight waistband of Kurt’s pants. And like that, his guidance was no longer necessary, as Blaine pushed the material higher, away from his skin. His lips followed, ducking lower than they had ever been previously to kiss along where his hands moved, ghosting across the muscles of Kurt’s stomach and up over his pecs. He paused for a moment at his nipple, kissing the tip lightly before opening his mouth and swirling his tongue around it.

Kurt gasped audibly, his back curling under Blaine’s ministrations. It was a simple touch, only wet tongue against cool skin, but it sent electric waves of fire along Kurt’s skin, making his muscles jolt and his arms reached to claw into Blaine’s shoulders. 

‘God,’ the younger boy hissed gently, leaning forward to press a gentle kiss against Kurt’s lips, where the boy had managed to regain his breath and was watching him with wide eyes. ‘That didn’t seem like much of an appropriate reaction.’

‘Clearly, you’ve never had someone attack your nipples with their _tongue.’_

Blaine smiled. ‘Hey, don’t get snarky with me. You seemed to enjoy it.’

‘Oh, I enjoyed it,’ came the moaned reply. It echoed off the air, loud enough for Blaine to hear, but almost surely soft enough that the others over beneath the other tree, even if completely silent, would not hear. This tree was almost the perfect position for this kind of thing, this kind of _event._ This monumental, life changing event.

Blaine reached out a hand, using it push Kurt’s shirt completely over his head and out of the way. His lips trailed over the smooth and pale skin of his collarbone, his shoulder, tracing the expanse with only the very tip of his tongue, leaving a light trace of saliva.

‘Blaine.’ The word - the _name -_ was whispered huskily from Kurt’s lips, and his own hands reached out, grasping at the t-shirt that Blaine was wearing, motioning desperately for it to be removed. His position against the grass made it almost impossible for him to get good leverage from the material, but another moan left Blaine breathing heavily and pulling the shirt over his own head.

‘Better?’ he whispered.

‘Much.’

Kurt’s hands grazed over Blaine’s chest, catching on the smooth contours of muscle. And then suddenly, his thumb was brushing over Blaine’s own nipple, tweaking lightly and the younger boy arched upwards, unable to control the motion. Beneath him, Kurt laughed.

‘See what I mean?’

‘Oh, God,’ he hissed, his breathing shallow and laboured. ‘Do that again.’

The thumb repeated its movement, pushing at the raised peak of the nipple and then Kurt shimmied down until he was positioned better beneath Blaine and reached up with his mouth to capture the nub lightly between his teeth and tug. 

‘ _Uh-’_ It was a broken moan and it fell from Blaine’s lips unbidden. ‘How are we _good_ at this without practice?’

Kurt stopped then, looking up at the older boy. ‘What have we _done?_ We’ve made out a bit, which we do all the time, and we’ve kissed each others nipples. It may be hot, but it’s not rocket science, Blaine.’

The younger boy scowled but reached for Kurt’s shoulders, moving so that both of them were further away form the tree than when they started, but his mouth was now above Kurt’s, barely inches away. ‘I find that a little bit offensive.’

He kissed him heavily, pushing his tongue inside his mouth and using rough licks and strokes to explore every cavern and crevice of his mouth. ‘I happen to believe I am _very_ talented,’ he breathed when he pulled away, using the small break to take in as much air as possible, and he smiled at the way that Kurt’s naked chest heaved. ‘Especially when you react like that.’

‘Like-’ He had meant to say _what,_ but Blaine had ducked his head again, attaching his lips to the boy’s earlobe and tugging with gentle but firm pressure.

‘You know how you react.’

‘Fine!’ Kurt was moaning, wrapping his arms around Blaine’s torso and pulling him closer, desperate for contact, friction between them, anything that would mean more sensation, more touch, more _feel._ He felt that if he could connect their veins, have the same blood pumping through both their veins and arteries, it still wouldn’t be enough, wouldn’t be a strong enough connection to express how he wanted to be with Blaine. ‘Yes, yes, I know how I react.’ He hissed as Blaine licked around the shell of his ear. ‘Do that again.’

The boy complied, swirling his tongue before pulling back down and pressing another kiss to Kurt’s lips, suddenly much more closer than he had been when he was balanced above him. ‘I love you,’ he moaned against the boys mouth, and he wasn’t sure if he could even hear the words or just feel the vibrations and the movements of his lips. His tongue was tasting, exploring, not hesitating as it danced against Kurt’s.

Once again, his lips travelled southward, his hands preceding their movement until they both stopped at his belly button, kissing the skin softly. Then with one deft movement he pressed his tongue inside, smiling as Kurt arched off of the grass and dirt. 

His hands slipped further, pressing against the waistband of Kurt’s pants but he stopped, looking up. ‘Are we really going to do this?’

Kurt’s eyes seemed all pupil, hardly any colour visible around the edges. His breathing was ragged, his chest heaving as his mouth hung slightly open, unable to close it. ‘Are you really considering stopping?’

And like that, the younger boy ducked his head, undoing the button in one deft motion.

* * *

 

Back underneath their main tree, curled up with her knees up against her chest, was Quinn. Beth was curled up in the gap made by her thighs and her torso, clinging into the material with her small fists. The blanket covered them, but in the cool night air, it was much colder than the bunker had been, and they huddled together to retain warmth. 

The back of the car was closed, holding them within the inside of the car, but Noah was outside, laying down just behind the back of the trunk with his head on a particularly comfortable patch of grass. He’d said he was happy there, but some part of Quinn still felt guilty, leaving him out in the cold. Especially when there was room with her and Beth in the back of the car with the seats pushed down. 

Beth gurgled, lifting her hand to press against Quinn’s cheek. Then she pointed with one small finger towards the back door. 

‘You- you want him to come inside with us?’ she whispered, running a thumb down her daughter’s cheek. The little girl nodded. Her eyes were wide, as if there was no way she was about to fall asleep within the next short while, even though she’d been asleep beforehand, and it was definitely getting late. But Quinn didn’t know what to do. On one hand, it made sense. There was room in the car, and he’d been good with Beth, changing her diaper and trying to feed her. On the other hand, he had been the worst father in the history of all fathers for a good year of Beth’s development. And he seemed to be really interested in getting with Quinn again. Was it worth it?

Hesitantly, she sat up, gripping Beth’s hand in hers as she reached for the latch to open the trunk. There was barely an inch of a gap and she leaned out her free hand, trying to snag Noah’s shirt. Instead, her hand hit his face, fingers squishing into his nose and he snorted, sitting up quickly and gripping onto her hand.

‘Quinn?’

‘Yeah?’

‘What are you doing?’

She paused, thinking it over. ‘Beth wants you to sleep inside with us.’

‘Beth?’ she could almost hear his raised eyebrow. 

‘Yeah, Beth. Your daughter.’

He sat up completely, turning to peek through the gap in the metal door. ‘Are you sure it has nothing to do with you?’

Quinn shook her head, but she wasn’t sure if she even believed herself. ‘All Beth. Nothing to do with me at all.’

He frowned but stood up and lifted the door, sliding inside and into the spare patch of carpeted floor on the other side of Beth. The little girl wriggled and turned on the spot to face him and pressed her hand into his cheek and face. It was as if she was trying to determine every part of him just by touch, his facial expressions and his bone structure.

‘Beth?’ he whispered and she stopped, pulling her hand away and instead capturing his shirt in it, pulling herself closer to him and snuggling into his chest. Quinn just watched, unsure whether she should be horrified or proud of the little girl, for doing something she would never be strong enough to do, to put her heart on the line again for someone who could break it so easily. She was too innocent, too young and perfect to know the kind of guy he was.

But in that second, as her mind reeled, thinking things over in a quick twist of words and ideas, flashing as images, his hand reached out, snagging hers. 

‘Quinn.’ And it was the same as he’d said Beth’s name, but different. It wasn’t hope for an invitation, it was his own invitation. _Be a family with us,_ it said. _Let me join your family, let us - you, me and Beth - be more than awkward conversations strung together. Come closer. Let me keep you warm._

He held out a hand, motioning for her to take it and she did, curling one arm around Beth and the other around his broad shoulder. His hand slipped around her waist and tugged her tighter so the three of them - father, mother and child - we’re curled into a tight, warm ball.

* * *

 

Kurt’s pants opened at the zip and Blaine pushed them down carefully, drawing them towards his ankles and then completely off. He folded them carefully and placed them beside the boy, removing his socks along with them and taking one foot, kissing carefully up the skin as he moaned.

‘Wow,’ he murmured against his flesh, kissing gently and sucking and licking up the curve of his calf and to his knee. He’d never before thought that knees were particularly sexy but here, kissing at the inside corner of Kurt’s he’d have to argue that they could perhaps be one of the most sexiest parts of the body. The skin is smooth, soft and he pressed his teeth into it again and again, not enough to be painful, but hard enough to leave a light mark.

Kurt groaned and reached for Blaine’s shoulder, digging his fingernails into the skin. ‘How- how are you doing that?’ he breathed.

The only word that could come to Blaine’s mind in reply made him laugh. ‘With skill.’ And then he was leaving Kurt’s knee, trailing his lips further upward, pressing into the creamy expanse of his thigh. The lean muscle quivered against his lips and Kurt seemed to arc further off the ground, his shoulders digging into the hard dirt. His breathing seemed even harder, his chest heaving, and Blaine moved away, instead leaning up and over to press another kiss to his lips. ‘Are you okay?’

‘Mm-’ he moaned. ‘Fabulous.’

‘Really?’ His voice was hesitant, desperate for an answer. There was no denying to anyone that he was inexperienced at this. 

_‘Definitely.’_

Kurt’s hands pushed at his shoulders, trying to get him to move lower. ‘Keep going,’ he breathed. His eyes suddenly shot open and then they were running the length of Blaine’s body, ghosting over his chest and stomach and down towards the very obvious bulge in his pants. ‘On second thought, take them off.’ He bit his lip. ‘Sorry, I don’t mean to be demanding just-’ He pressed a quick kiss to Blaine’s lips. ‘I don’t want this to be a one sided experience.’

‘Trust me,’ Blaine returned. ‘It’s not.’ But he nodded and sat back onto his heels, changing position to pull his pants down around his knees and then off. He kicked them into a pile at his feet, not even bothering to fold them or push them aside before he leaned back over Kurt and kissed him again. 

The older boy separated them for a moment, using his hands as leverage against Blaine’s stomach. He used the moment to run his eyes along the contours of Blaine’s stomach, down to his hipbones where they disappeared into his underwear, and then the length of his legs. His eyes stopped hungrily at the bulge of his black boxer briefs and the dark stain that was spreading across the front, where his cock was already leaking a small amount of pre-cum. 

‘Let’s reverse this situation,’ Kurt whispered huskily. ‘You’ve been doing insanely hot things to me with nothing in return. It’s your turn to feel what this is like, properly.’

‘Trust me,’ Blaine said again. It seemed to be his key line in this situation. ‘I _have_ felt this.’ He motioned to the stain on his underwear, the same stain Kurt had been staring at. ‘I have _definitely_ felt this.’

But Kurt shook his head and pushed him over so he was lying on the ground before swinging a leg across his hip and settling himself above him. He brought his lips down, kissing into the taut muscles and veins of Blaine’s neck, breathing heavily and absorbing the rhythm of his pulse. The blood pumped heavily through his veins and from this position, Kurt could feel every beat, and it seemed as if his own heart was beating in time. 

‘I- I’m so _hard,’_ he whispered, and although he’d never really said the words out loud before, they didn’t seem wrong or forced. Blaine only smiled, rolling his hips up slightly so they pressed into his. 

‘I know.’

Kurt ducked his head lower, leaning backwards and away from Blaine’s hips to lay small kisses against his collarbone and chest. He swirled his tongue around one of his nipples, mimicking the same action he had made earlier and smiling into the skin as the boy beneath him groaned. 

‘See,’ he whispered. ‘How hot is that?’ His mouth ghosted lower, over the expanse of tanned skin and then he was at Blaine’s belly button and then the waistband of his underwear, his lips pressing only lightly against the skin and the small patch of hair that disappeared beneath the material. He raised his head and then his eyebrows in question, silently asking for permission.

Blaine only groaned and nodded roughly.

At that, he pressed his palm down, into the bulge of Blaine’s underwear and the boy bucked up, desperately seeking friction as his hips followed the movement of Kurt’s hand. 

‘Kurt-’ he spoke through flushed red lips, and the word came out broken and almost incoherent. ‘ _Please.’_

The older boy blinked, but he understood the meaning behind those words. _Touch me. Properly. Relieve me._ He slipped his hand up Blaine’s thigh and hooked his thumb into the waistband of his underwear, pulling them down in one swift motion. His cock sprang free, thick and red against his skin and the boy breathed a sigh of relief. The cool air was enough to counteract the heat and the _need_ for friction for a short moment. 

‘I-’ he muttered, reaching for Kurt’s shoulders, anything, to pull him back up so they were face to face. ‘I’m going to tell you this now, before I forget.’ He licked his lips and leaned higher, pressing a short kiss onto Kurt’s own lips. ‘I love you,’ he breathed and then he rocked backwards, collapsing back onto the ground. 

Kurt twisted his hips, rocking into Blaine’s and he hissed and arced his back in pleasure.

‘I know,’ came the reply. ‘I love you, too.’

His hand snaked down, wrapping firmly around Blaine’s cock and pumping once, twice. His thumb slipped over the ridge of the head and Blaine gasped, bucking up into the circle of his hand. 

‘God,’ he breathed. The feel of Kurt’s hand against his cock, slipping and sliding, rough and with only the lubrication from his own pre-cum that leaked out of his slit. It was too much, too heady. He couldn’t breathe properly, couldn’t see, could only feel in a way that burned within his veins and muscles like an ache. And he wanted so desperately to return this feeling, to have Kurt experiencing what it was like. ‘I-’ he hissed. ‘Let me.’ 

He flipped them back over again so he was on top, moving downwards until he was at Kurt’s own underwear, pausing only for a second for permission before pulling them down and over his knees and away. 

Kurt’s cock sprang to attention and sat poised against his stomach, red and bright and slick with pre-cum. It seemed different to his own, paler and longer, but as he cupped his hand around it, the familiar feeling of warmth and strength was still there. He was rock hard and he pumped once, twice, before kissing a gentle kiss to the head.

It was an experiment, something different that he’d never experienced but heard quite a bit about and Kurt gasped, throwing his head back in pleasure. The boy’s hands snaked into his hair, pulling him closer and stopping him from escaping and he instead gladly wrapped his lips around the length of Kurt, taking him into his mouth. 

The feeling of solidness, of _Kurt_ filled the void of his mouth, and it was strange, to say the least. But it felt right, and whole, and he sucked gently, using his tongue to lick up the underside of his cock and swirl around the head. 

Kurt’s breathing was coming in heavy gasps and he whispered out Blaine’s name in a broken sound. ‘ _Blaine._ Blaine, don’t _stop.’_

And although the younger boy wasn’t even considering it, it made him smile. He hollowed his cheeks, pulling at the red, flushed skin, and wrapped his fingers around the base where he couldn’t quite reach, pumping gently. ‘You are so beautiful,’ he murmured, but his mouth was somewhat _contained_ by Kurt’s cock and it came out as incoherent mumble.

‘What?’ Kurt asked, and so he pulled away, almost laughing as the boy hissed at the loss of contact and leaned his head against the smooth expanse of Kurt’s chest. 

‘I was just trying to say that you are beautiful. Amazingly, amazingly beautiful. All of you. Every little bit.’ He grinned and Kurt grinned back, rocking his hips gently upward towards Blaine. It was a simple action, but it created more friction, eased the heady rush of need slightly and replaced it with pleasure.

‘Well, you’re all that and just plain _amazing,’_ Kurt returned and reached down, wrapping his own hand around Blaine’s cock and pumping it. The pressure was building, threatening to over flow and Blaine pushed it down. _Don’t come, don’t come, don’t come._

It was too early, too quick. He should be able to last longer than this, give Kurt more than this, but just the feel of Kurt’s hand around his cock and his lips against his collarbone was too much. And when the boy leaned up and whispered into his ear, ‘Come for me,’ he lost it.

The heat that had coiled in the lowest part of his stomach released in a flow of streaky white cum, across his own stomach and onto Kurt’s as well. He tried to reach for Kurt’s own cock, get him to the same point, the same release, but he had bet him to it, just the sight of seeing Blaine’s release sending him over the edge. They collapsed together, hands snaking around each others waist, pulling each other close despite the stickiness. The cool air dried it against their skin quickly, but all they could think of was each other, the blinding white light still against their closed eyelids. 

Their heavy breathing echoed in the air and with a whisper, Blaine finally found the words to speak. ‘That- you- that was incomparable.’ Kurt was leaning against him, skin pressed against skin, as close as they could possible get and their softening cocks pressed together, all previous heat that would have occurred during that exchange instead dulling to an over-sensitive twitch. 

‘I love you,’ Kurt replied, and that seemed like the best statement to sum it up, so Blaine returned it.

‘I love you, too.’

* * *

 

Somehow, although the group of eight - seven teenagers and a one year old - were so separated into individual groups, so cliquey and filled with high school gossip and whispering and general dislike, there were perfect moments between them, where something that should be shared _was_ shared. The emotions that danced beneath Kurt and Blaine’s tree were electric, crackling almost perceptibly in the night air. The humming of family atmosphere that came from the back of the car, where Noah, Quinn and Beth fell asleep almost immediately after letting the boy into the confines, was tangible and beautiful. All five of them, even little Beth, had opened themselves up to love, friendship and family that night. Simple actions had made a large difference in how they perceived each other, the strength to which their connections became.

But for the remaining three teenagers, emotion seemed to come with much more cost, and perhaps at a price they were unwilling to pay. 

Santana felt different to the others. Her life wasn’t with her, wasn’t fighting along side them like Quinn or Kurt and Blaine. To her, she was fighting for something she was never really sure she could achieve, and it seemed as if the others didn’t get that. 

That night, during dinner, Rachel had asked about Brittany, about their relationship. It was a sore spot for Santana and she had snapped.

‘I- I was just asking how close you are.’

‘Brittany and I are best friends,’ she hissed. Her voice had raised dramatically during the earlier parts of the conversation and now it was lowering, barely loud enough to hear. ‘She is everything to me.’

‘Then why isn’t she here?’

‘She’s not a big one for change.’

Rachel bit her lip, and with her next comment, Santana would never be sure if she was being critical or just plain curious. It seemed rude, insanely so, but it was becoming common knowledge to the whole group that what was rude for them was simply normal for Rachel. 

‘So does that mean she doesn’t want to be with you?’

It was most definitely the wrong thing to say anyway, no matter how the girl had meant it. Santana grit her teeth tightly together, running a hand roughly through her long dark hair and refusing to answer the question.

In truth, it wasn’t any better for Rachel. Santana, in return and more than definitely as payback, decided that was the perfect time to bring up Finn, a topic which Rachel always tried her hardest to avoid. He had refused to come with her, that was the short of it, and although she tried to tell the others that without crying, it always seemed to leave her at her most emotional.

It wasn’t as if he didn’t love her. She knew in her heart of hearts that he did. He just wasn’t good with change, and authorities, and he liked obeying by the rules, if only not to raise issues that he would then have to deal with.

But trying to explain that to the others, and especially to Santana, was difficult.

‘Personally,’ the latino said, leaning back against the tree. ‘I just think he realised you’d probably be a horrible lay and however he could get rid of you was a positive thing.’

‘I’m a- bad lay?’ She knew the term, but she had never heard it used to describe her own self before.

‘It means you’re not good in bed.’ Santana paused but before Rachel even began to speak again she was continuing. ‘Come to think of it, Finn’s not very good in bed either. He’s too pudgy. His nipples are like twin peaks of rice pudding. They’re all lumpy and floppy and-’ she shuddered lightly. ‘Just- ew. Maybe he realised _he_ wasn’t a good enough lay and you’d dump him soon enough anyway, so he might as well do you the favour and do it himself.’

With that, Rachel burst into tears. It hadn’t been the first time, and it was likely not to be the last, but Santana had gotten to the point that she didn’t care, so she only turned her head and started talking to Tina.

Tina. The girl seemed to be finding it the hardest to fit into the group, and this was probably because of the fact that they were all concerned she’d rat them out as soon as she got the chance. Even Quinn, who seemed so trusting of her at the beginning, kept shooting her sideways glancing when she thought she wasn’t looking. The only member of their group that seemed to treat her as if she was a normal person was Beth, and that was no consolation as the girl seemed to find it impossible to understand the complex dynamics of teenage relationships.

Kurt and Blaine would watch Tina with a wary eye, open enough to conversation but always concerned that she wasn’t revealing enough of herself, that she wasn’t baring herself to them and accordingly had secrets that could affect them.

Rachel refused to even talk directly to her, instead asking Santana or one of the others to communicate on her behalf, and Tina found it downright rude. It seemed as if the others didn’t practice what they preached, and instead just did what came naturally to them. Just like everyone else in society, they judged by actions and not the individual, despite the fact that this was what they’d been spending their whole time talking about, the whole point of their battle against the Regime.

The only one that Tina could understand was Santana. 

Unlike the others, she made no false niceties, didn’t pretend that she liked Tina. Instead, she told her at every available opportunity, ‘I don’t like you, but I don’t like anyone, so that’s alright.’ Or, ‘I think you’re a liar and you’re just waiting for a phone connection to call us in. I’m keeping my eye on you.’ She didn’t like the girl, but she didn’t beat around the bush and her bluntness was a welcome change. 

Perhaps their group was so discordant because there were too many of them. Perhaps it was the close contact. But each of them, separately, worried that when the time came to stand up for each other and to do the right thing, that their loyalties would lie outside the group, and the weakest member of the group - and each secretly feared it was themselves - would be left behind to defend for themselves and fail, with deadly consequences.


	13. Chapter Twelve

**Chapter Twelve**

_'Bone and Skin, two millers thin,_  
 _Would starve us all, or near it;_  
 _But be it known to Skin and Bone_  
 _That Flesh and Blood can’t bear it.’  
_ _-John Byron, ‘Epigram on Two Monopolists’_

The next morning, tensions were even higher than they had seemed the night before. There was the unspoken decision in the air, that understanding between all of them that movement, an offensive forward movement, was what was needed. They couldn’t wait here until they were found again, they needed to keep moving, keep searching.

Coming across from their own tree, Blaine and Kurt held hands, a sense of peace about them, but even through the haze that had been their previous night and still lingered in their pores and nostrils, they knew they were leaving again. 

The others had already begun packing up. Quinn was feeding Beth while Noah lifted the seats in the car back up to their normal positions. Santana and Tina were rolling up blankets and pushing them into the trunk. All that was left was the food and themselves. 

Rachel was dolling scoops of cold baked beans onto plates, and as Blaine and Kurt approached, she handed a particularly large one to them. ‘You can share, right?’ she asked. ‘Beth knocked over one of the bowls, so it’s all covered in dirt and no one wants to eat from it.’

Kurt nodded and took the plate. ‘We can share.’ Together, they sat down on the grass, their feet just touching and looping over each other.

Quickly, the others joined them, Santana falling heavily onto the grass. ‘Good night over there?’ she winked. ‘It seemed like a good night.’

‘It was fabulous,’ Kurt returned, dead pan. A worried expression crossed Blaine’s face and he turned to the older boy.

‘It wasn’t fabulous?’

Kurt sighed and tipped back his head, almost laughing. ‘Of course it was fabulous, Blaine. But we don’t need to share that with everyone.’

The younger boy paled, and bit his lip. ‘Sorry.’

Kurt really laughed then, using his free hand to capture his and pull it to his lips. He pressed a gentle kiss to Blaine’s knuckles. ‘Don’t worry about it,’ he whispered. ‘I’d be bragging too, if I was that good.’

Santana smiled, her teeth showing but no real joy in her face. ‘Wanky.’

‘Shut up, Santana.’ 

And like that, the conversation fell to a halt, Blaine unwilling to say anything more and get anyone else - and especially Santana - started. He only shot Kurt a small smile and squeezed his hand tighter, mouthing _thank you._

‘So where are we going to head to today?’ Santana asked, kicking one heel over the other where her legs were spread out in front of her. Her fingers dug into the soil where she propped herself up by her hands. ‘I can’t just drive with no direction again. It’s not the easiest thing to do, you know.’

Rachel handed her the last bowl of baked beans and sat down herself around the circle which now consisted of every member of their little group, Beth in Noah’s lap. ‘We have a problem.’

Everyone’s eyes turned to hers, silence quickly falling, and the small conversation that had been going on between Noah and Quinn suddenly stopped. Only Beth’s gurgling vocal noises were ever present. 

‘What kind of a problem?’ Noah asked.

Rachel bit her lip, twisting the skin between her teeth. ‘We’re running out of food.’

‘What does that mean?’ Kurt was the one to reply, and his hand suddenly dropped from Blaine’s, pressing instead into the dirt as he leaned forward anxiously. ‘What do you mean by _we’re running out of food.’_

She hesitated. ‘I mean, we took all the baked beans and sausages that we could, but we don’t have much left. Maybe another full day, perhaps two if we’re careful.’

‘Why didn’t anyone bring this up before?’ It was Blaine. ‘I mean, we could have conserved food long before this.’

‘I didn’t even think of it,’ she said, her voice high and apologetic. ‘I’m so sorry. I thought we had heaps, but then I was counting the cans and there’s only six left, plus the sausages. And for eight people and three square meals a day, that’s not going to last very long.’

The general atmosphere of the circle seemed to be anger and animosity to Rachel, but Santana was thinking. ‘So I guess this means we’re heading into town.’

‘What do you mean?’ 

‘We have to get food somehow, right?’ she said. ‘Well, we just have to go into the nearest town - only a few of us, so we raise less suspicion - and steal some IDs to pay for something. A simple enough task.’

Rachel blanched. ‘You’re talking about _stealing._ That would be horrible on our permanent record!’

‘And you think being a fugitive isn’t?’

She blinked, dumbstruck. ‘I- I just-’

‘No.’ Again, Blaine spoke up. ‘This is something we’ve got to do. Meals are important, especially for Beth. Even though she might not eat much, she’s still growing. I’ve studied basic Biology.’

Quinn nodded her thanks to him.

‘I volunteer myself,’ he motioned, holding up a hand. ‘I have a charming smile, and my uncle taught me pick-pocketing when I was a kid.’

‘Okay, so Blaine’s in,’ Santana said. ‘Good job, midget. I’ll go too. In Lima Heights, you learn to get what you want through means other than being polite and doing the right thing.’ She reached out a hand for him to hi five it. ‘It’s a deal then. The two of us will go into town, steal some IDs and use them to buy food before coming back to the car. I guess this means I better teach one of you to drive, in case we need a speedy getaway.’

Noah raised his hand. ‘I’ll do it. I know the mechanics already, I just haven’t had much practice.’

‘Okay,’ Santana said. ‘It’s settled.’

And like that, the group was making forward motion.

* * *

The car became quickly packed full of people, the last of their tins of baked beans and probably off sausages piled in the boot. Kurt was still sitting on Blaine’s lap, leaning his head into his shoulder, but that time it seemed more intimate, and it was obvious to everyone around them that they’d progressed further than their relationship had been previously that last night. Rachel was again on top of Tina, but she seemed more tired and less awkward, and instead of sitting on the very edge of the girl’s knees, she was back further and slumped against the doorframe. 

But unlike the day before, Beth was in Noah’s lap. Her head was lolled to the side and resting on Quinn’s knee, but the majority of her small body was sprawled across his knees and her hand was curled around his fingers while she smiled softly to herself.

The silence in the car was palpable. No one was quite sure where it had stemmed from but they all seemed too afraid to break it, too cautious about what it might mean for them, what it could foretell. They were only thinking about themselves, or each other, or the future.

Beth, not surprisingly, was the only one of them with little care. She knew nothing of the world she lived in, only of emotions and family. That was her language, and as such, all she knew was that everyone was tense. She had nothing of her own to feel tense about, or worry about. 

It was a fair way to the next town, and it took them a good while to get there, Noah peering through the gap between the back seat and the front and observing as Santana changed gears, the one aspect of driving that he had never quite grasped. Her foot pressed down hard on the clutch and she moved the gear stick with a practiced hand, up into fourth, and then into fifth. And then her foot moved back onto the accelerator and it seemed she did it all without even thinking, just went through the motions while her eyes scanned the road, taking in obstacles, corners and other cars. 

‘Keep your eyes peeled, stud,’ she muttered into the silence, turning the wheel slightly to align them back on course. ‘If you need to drive at short notice, I’d like to be able to trust you.’

‘Trust me?’

‘Yes, to not steer us off the roads or grind us into a stall.’

He frowned, but said nothing, and just repositioned Beth slightly on his lap. 

‘I think he’ll be fine, Santana,’ Quinn assured her. ‘He’s not completely useless.’

The latino laughed. ‘I guess he definitely can knock girls up.’

Quinn blanched and leaned back into her seat. If anything was ever going to hit a bone, it was mention of Beth, and where she had come from, what she was. Not only did it hurt, that she’d let Noah get away without wearing a condom, it also implied the obviousness of the situation, that Beth was an Illegal and she always would be, just because he hadn’t thought to use protection, and Quinn hadn’t made sure of it before she fell into bed with him.

‘Don’t,’ she breathed, and Santana smirked, leaning back into her seat and keeping her eyes trained on the road.

In the backseat, Blaine leaned his head onto Kurt’s shoulder. ‘How are we going to do this?’ he asked Santana. ‘Just walk in and take the IDs? Hope we don’t get caught on camera?’

‘What else are we supposed to do?’ she replied. ‘Get facial surgery? I mean, I don’t think your man here would like you so much if you were disfigured or looked different.’

Kurt scowled but said nothing.

‘It’s going to be a big risk,’ Blaine replied, and his arms that sat around his boyfriend’s waist tightened, squeezing him tight.

‘Anything we do is going to be a big risk. It’s the only thing I can think of that will assure us a meal if we get out of there. If we break into a house in the outer suburbs, even if we escape again, there’s no definitive proof that there will even be food there.’

‘Everyone has food, Santana,’ Rachel scoffed.

‘Do we have food right now? No. Now shut up.’ She swiveled in her seat slightly to get a better view of Blaine in the mirror. ‘Just use slight of hand to get the bloody things out of their pockets and their wallets back in before they notice you’re even there, and then inside the store, just make sure you cover the picture when you swipe it through. They won’t even notice you’re doing it, but make sure that they don’t see the picture and realise it’s not you.’

Blaine laughed. ‘I know how to pick pockets, Santana.’

‘Right.’

They were pulling into the outskirts now and she steered the car into an abandoned parking lot, sliding out of the driving seat and motioning for Noah to change positions and take the wheel. ‘Meet us on the other side of town,’ she said. ‘If we’re not there within the hour, leave without us.’

Kurt stood up on his heels and Blaine slipped out from underneath him, placing a gentle kiss against his cheek before getting out of the car. He squeezed his hand. ‘I love you.’

‘I love you too.’

And with a slam of doors and a whir of motors, the group had split into two, Santana and Blaine alone on the hunt to find nutrition.

* * *

 

Without Blaine and Santana, the car seemed even more silent. Noah slipped the car into gear, traveling slowly as he got the hang of the controls. He managed to navigate out of the car park without going into reverse, which he considered himself very proud of, as he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to manage that small feat. 

In the back seat, Quinn was rocking Beth anxiously against her knee. Rachel had taken Noah’s free seat and kept trying to grip the little girl’s hand, but the car would jerk or Quinn would shoot her a fiery glare, and she drew her hand away. 

‘Sorry.’

‘It’s fine,’ Quinn returned. ‘Just- not right now. I’m not in the mood to let anyone touch my daughter right now.’ And although she said it as if she had no personal vendetta against Rachel - and in her own mind, she probably didn’t - the dark haired girl knew most of them were blaming her for their lack of food. She had said right at the beginning that she would deal with it. She had cooked all their meals, made sure everyone was fed and taken that responsibility upon herself as a way to be part of the group and feel important. And she had let them all down.

She’d let _herself_ down.

She’d not paid enough attention, not measured out their quantities, and it was because of her carelessness that Blaine and Santana were now walking into a town they’d missed the name of as they’d sped past the road sign, doing who knows what to get them food.

‘I’m sorry,’ she murmured, almost to herself as she buried her head in her hands. ‘I’m so sorry. This is all my fault. All my fault. I’m so sorry, you guys.’

Kurt turned from where he was leaning his head against the cool glass window to turn to her. ‘It’s not all your fault, Rachel. We had limited food supplies. We always knew there would be an issue.’

‘I didn’t!’ she sobbed. Her chest was wracking, heaving, almost too dramatically for the situation, especially when everyone else in the car only faced the front and sat in stony silence. 

‘Then you’re more naive than I thought. Did you think food just grew on trees? That it just magically appeared in the back of this damn car every time we went to sleep at night?’

She bit into her lip, making the flesh swell around her teeth. ‘I didn’t _know,’_ she breathed. ‘I didn’t _know.’_

Kurt shook his head angrily and leaned his head back against the window. ‘I don’t blame you, Rachel.’

‘Then why are you so angry!’

It was his turn to spin around, turning a sharp gaze on her. ‘Do you think I’m happy that my boyfriend is walking straight into the heart of danger? That I’m not _with_ him? Just because Finn would do nothing at all for you doesn’t mean I wouldn’t risk my life for Blaine!’

‘That’s not true!’ she wailed. ‘Finn would do anything for me!’

‘Like risk his life when the rest of us were being taken away by Officers? Look at Noah! He’d never even _met_ Beth! He only knew he’d done the dirty with Quinn and _he_ helped us! I saw Finn! He was just standing on his own, over by his locker, watching us. He didn’t even look _guilty,_ Rachel.’

Her eyes were blotchy when she raised them to Kurt’s, the tears falling from her face and all that he could think was that she was weak, and naive. Especially if she thought Finn really cared about her, when he showed her no reason to believe in him.

‘He loves me,’ she managed to breathe through her tears. ‘He loves me.’

Kurt scowled and gave up, leaning his head against the window once more and turning to watch as the city flashed past slowly. ‘Whatever you kid yourself,’ he murmured.

In the front seat, Noah kept his eyes on the road, carefully steering them round a corner and through the central business district into the other end of suburban areas. But when he straightened the car back out and was on a flat stretch, he looked into the mirror. Quinn was watching him with wide eyes as if to say _what have we come to?_

* * *

In the control tower in New York City, only a few states away from where the group of six teenagers were now attempting to obtain food, the group around the computer monitor had grown. Men and women had been called in to join them, the operation moved to a bigger room where everyone could have their own seat. The monitor was larger too, positioned higher on the wall, and in front of each of them. A computer screen detailed their current tasks. 

One woman in the front row was going through their flags, trying to determine motives and any future movements they may make. She was a psychological profiler, and had trained in some of the best universities in the country, available only to 1st Levels, people who’s families were well embedded within the Regime. Getting into the 1st Level wasn’t about how much money you had, but how you spent it and who you affiliated with. And 1st Levels always received the best education that only family status could provide.

‘Come have a look at this,’ she called, reaching up a hand and motioning for someone, anyone, to join her at her computer. A man was the first. He was tall, with wiry hair and a well trimmed mustache. He was the one running the operation from this room, sitting in his large chair amid the others and never looking at his own computer screen. 

‘What have you got?’ he asked.

‘Well, I’ve been looking at all their flag sheets separately, trying to find somewhere they would go, something they could be heading towards, and I couldn’t find anything except the general idea of wanting to revolt. But then I found something.’ She pulled up an image of two flags, side by side. ‘Rachel52919949 raised flags because her mother hadn’t been inside the family house for some time, spending all her days in New York, working for the 3rd Level Entertainment industry. Instead, in her house, is a roommate, another male. We had suspicions of homosexual activity, but they could never be confirmed, so we could only place a flag on the members of her family.’ She brought up another screen. ‘And then we have Quinn52319946. She’s got flags for suspicious activity and noises late at night. _Baby_ kind of noises.’

‘What does it mean?’ the man asked. 

‘I have a feeling,’ she said, with slow sure words. ‘That this Quinn girl got pregnant illegally. It happens quite a lot but we usually pick up on it and get them removed for disobedience. This girl must be particularly smart about the whole thing.’

‘And how does the other girl tie into all this?’

‘My theory?’ The woman’s voice was almost a smile. ‘I think Rachel52919949 _should_ be an illegal. For comparison purposes, let’s say her two “dads” are in a homosexual relationship. This is suspected but not confirmed. But say it was. They would have needed someone to have the child, and then agree to sign the birth certificate for her to be Legal. And we have her mother on record.’

‘What are you suggesting?’

‘Where would a girl with a child and a slim chance of surviving take it when they’re on the run? To someone they _know_ will protect it, that they _know_ is also against the Regime.’

‘Rachel52919949’s mother?’

‘Yes. Shelby526196515.’


	14. Chapter Thirteen

**Chapter Thirteen**

_‘A conflict begins and ends in the hearts and minds of people, not in the hilltops.’  
_ _-Amos Oz_

But back in the car, Beth on her lap and scowling, Quinn had never even considered the possibility of having the little girl anywhere but with her. She was too precious, and only with her could she ever be safe, protected. Keeping her close was the most essential aspect of everything. It was all that mattered to her. Keeping Beth safe.

She held the girl tighter as they sped around a corner, watching out of the corner of her eye as Kurt pursed his lips and she knew he was thinking about Blaine. To him, Blaine was like Beth. His life, everything that mattered in the world.

She used to be a big preacher of the philosophy that high school crushes and relationships never worked out, that it was a matter of growing up and maturing that resulted in proper love, but being here, watching the way Kurt and Blaine were with each other, she was starting to retract that opinion. They were in love. It was really obvious, something that not one of their group could deny, and it seemed to fill them, overflowing into their words and actions without them even realising it.

Quinn wished that she could love someone like Kurt loved Blaine and like Blaine loved Kurt. She wished she could be _loved_ by someone like that. 

‘Is this it?’ Noah asked, motioning with one hand to another parking lot, similar to the one that Santana and Blaine had left them at, but at the opposite side of town. ‘Is this where we wait?’

Tina had been looking out the window but she looked up then, scanning the area before nodding. ‘This is where we wait.’

* * *

 

For Santana and Blaine, it was the opposite of waiting. It was fast, hurried movements, keeping to a time limit, running and rushing and doing their best not to slip up with the _speed_ of it all. Outside the central business district, the city itself was quiet. Unlike their own hometown, no one was really moving about. They were clearly in a 2nd Level suburb, as Blaine could tell by the two storey houses and the large gardens and the double carports. It was a wealthy area, the kind of place he felt at home in, and because of it, he knew why they were alone on the streets. It was a simple matter of timing. It was nearing lunch time, and at lunch time, everyone in a 2nd Level area was at work, or school, or daycare. The only people around would be those too sick to participate in their daily activities, and themselves.

‘How many more blocks?’ Santana asked and Blaine looked ahead, memorising the names on the street signs. 

‘I wouldn’t say much longer. The 2nd Level is usually right next to the business district, so they don’t have to commute as far, and so their buses don’t have to travel into the outer, less wealthy districts.’

Santana scowled. ‘I hate this system. I hate the whole idea of it. The way that we’re separated out into social standing and we’re not supposed to interact. Money should mean nothing. Social class should mean _nothing.’_

Blaine nodded. He understood what she meant, but it wouldn’t stop it happening. The Regime was too far in place for just the wishes of a few people to change it.

Even if that was what they were trying so hard to do.

‘I think this is where we need to split up,’ he said softly. They had reached a corner with a milk bar, selling candy for kids. It seemed the central business district was close. People were actually starting to move around the street, and they only needed to find a busy enough area that no one would be looking at what they were doing to complete their mission. And it would be best if they worked alone, at least until they were on the other side of the CBD. Oliver Twist had got some things wrong, after all. 

‘Okay,’ Santana murmured, and held out a hand for him to hi five it. ‘Let’s do this.’ Her smile was an empty representation of what it should be, but he took it and nodded.

‘Let’s go.’

And like that, she had disappeared, turning around the corner as he continued walking, slipping out of sight like she had promised him she’d been able to do. He only hoped he’d be able to do so as easily when the time came.

* * *

 

Slipping away from Blaine, Santana made her way along a side street, turning onto the next block over, parallel to the direction she knew Blaine was taking. He was right, they were coming into the main business district, and almost as she watched, the streets became quickly crowded, mothers dragging small children into stores, businessmen in dark suits rushing to their next appointments, girls in short skirts climbing into long black cars. It was a hectic world, much more hectic than that of Lima, Ohio. It was a big city, a city moving forward, expanding. Soon, they’d be knocking down 3rd Level houses and filling the spaces with 2nd Level ones, expanding outwards. It seemed like that kind of town.

It wasn’t long until she was being pressed between people, squeezing between them to make her way along the streets. This was how it needed to be to pickpocket. It needed to be so crowded that people didn’t realise that that slight bump they felt wasn’t the person beside them whose bag accidently collided with their hip. That they wouldn’t notice the tanned hand sliding inside their pocket and pulling out their ID card, slipping it into her own pocket.

She took a deep breath and ducked into a doorway, running her hand through her hair absently as she straightened her shirt that she’d worn too many days in a row and was probably gross and smelt bad. It wasn’t a positive idea when she was trying to steal from someone. She would raise eyebrows, people would smell her and she’d be more obvious. But there was nothing she could do. At least she’d thought to pull on something that at least seemed suitable to the era, rather than the way too old, white cotton shirts they’d found in the farmhouse. Maybe she could buy something to wear while she was at it.

‘Are you alright, miss?’ a voice asked and she turned around to face a young salesman, maybe only a few years older than herself, just out of high school, poking his head around the door. He had a thick apron on, spattered here and there in blood and she realised she was standing outside a butcher shop. He was carrying a basket full of meats - sausages, chops and a whole chicken - and he slipped past her and onto the street, turning back and waiting for her answer.

‘I’m fine,’ she said.

‘You just look a little bit messed around, that’s all. I’m sorry if I offended you.’ He lowered his head politely and moved out into the rush, stepping away. It had been a close call, especially when she had slipped her hand into the basket and pulled out a bag of small steaks, slipping it into her pant pocket. 

She breathed a sigh of relief and stepped away from the store, melding into the crowd as if it was where she belonged.

Perhaps it was.

* * *

 

Blaine was nervous. Probably too nervous, especially when nerves never aided this process in any way. It was about keeping a steady hand, not fidgeting, not having a reason to suspect you. All he had to do was reach into someone’s pocket, withdraw their ID and keep walking. It seemed so simple.

But it wasn’t. It really really wasn’t. He couldn’t decide who to pick, for one thing. There were too many people. Of course it would be better if it was a man. Less suspicion that way. And preferably someone young, someone who he could pull off being when their information flashed up on the screen of the shop assistant’s computer. 

And then, once he found that person, he had to be quick enough to pull off the snatch.

The first person he decided on slipped into a store before they were close enough to each other, and Blaine had scowled, leaning against the wall again to watch before stepping back into the crowd. 

It should be easy, he told himself again and again. It should be so so easy.

And then he saw him, a teenager, around his age, but perhaps a little older, because he wasn’t in school. He looked wealthy, enough to have money on his ID card anyway. He was heading towards Blaine with a purpose, looking past him and towards a store that seemed to be selling console games just past him down the street. Blaine kept his eye trained on a sign above the boy’s head, watching out his peripheral as he drew nearer, and as their paths crossed, he reached into his pocket and withdrew the card, sliding it into his own without even looking.

He had it. He had someone’s ID card.

Now the hardest part was to come. Or at least, in his mind the next bit had always been the hard bit. Swiping the card with nonchalance, like he’d swipe his own. Simple and without preamble. Confidently, as if he did it all the time. He needed to steady his hand, stop the jitters. He needed to breathe, keep breathing steadily, not too deep but not too shallow.

And he had to stop thinking about it.

 _Just_ do, _Blaine,_ he said to himself. _Just do._

A store was to his right, a large convenience store and he slipped inside, not thinking about the heavy weight of the card in his pocket. Instead, he thought about what he would buy. Near the entrance, he grabbed a basket and hung it loosely across his elbow while he reached for a loaf of bread, one of the first things he caught sight of. Closely behind it was a packet of rolls, and then a lettuce. A _lettuce._ He never brought lettuce himself, had hardly even eaten the vegetable, but he found it falling into his basket. He’d never thought of therapeutic shopping before, but here it was, clear as day. Pulling things of the shelf and into the basket made him feel calmer, less worried about what was to come.

A cake followed, something gooey and full of chocolate. And then more vegetables, potatoes, pumpkin and even something that was small and yellow and he’d never seen before in his life. A bag full of apples. 

Together, he and Santana had agreed that if they both bought what they thought was enough, they’d be able to have enough to last a while. It had seemed like a good plan at the time, but now Blaine found that he had no idea what he thought was enough. A bunch of bananas went into the basket and he realised he probably needed something bigger if he was going to continue on like this and put them back. Instead, he moved to the next aisle, pulling packets of bacon and ham from the shelf. Milk would be too fragile and go off too easily, so he left that aside, and instead raided the junk food aisle, pulling packets of crisps and chocolates and candy off the shelves. Two bottles of soft drink went into the basket, weighing it down suddenly, and then he was heading towards the counter.

The counter. It loomed in front of him, scary and dominating. But he placed his face into a mask of calm and reached into his pocket, withdrawing the ID card while balancing the basket with his other arm. 

‘Sir?’ the voice behind the counter asked in question and he moved forward, placing his basket onto the revolving belt. It moved his choices down toward the young man and he began scanning, placing them into plastic bags. 

‘You’ve sure got a lot of food here, sir,’ he said politely.

‘Huh?’ It was the first thing that came to Blaine. Panic. I’ve been caught out. But then he relaxed, realised he was just being polite, smiling simply as if Blaine was just the same kind of customer he served and saw every day. ‘Oh, right. Yeah, I’m feeding a lot of people tonight.’

‘Good luck with that,’ the man said with a smile as he packed the bread - the last of the shopping - into a bag and motioned for Blaine to scan the card. He slipped it into the reader, trying his hardest not to concentrate on his hand, or the card, with the name in small letters. _Jacob._ Did he look like a Jacob? He didn’t know.

But the scan read the card successfully, and there seemed no issue. The man just smiled at him as he pushed the card back into his pocket and picked up his bags of food. 

‘Good luck with all those people, Jacob,’ he said, and Blaine smiled before he was gone, out the door, desperate to get as far away from the crime he’d just committed as he could.

He almost had to remind himself to slow down, to not rush, and to just walk slowly, walk as if there was nothing suspicious at all going through his mind.

* * *

 

Back in the control room, a different woman was bringing up a live stream, a video representation of Blaine within the convenience store, paying for his shopping. ‘Does this look like the boy to you?’ she asked. ‘The one that got downgraded?’ 

Someone beside her pulled up a photo of Blaine and they compared the image, his hair colour and his eye colour. ‘They look the same,’ he said.

‘Well, this kid here just scanned the ID card of a Jacob, that’s Juliet, Alfa, Charlie, Oscar, Bravo. We have a serial number too, but I don’t think that’s very important to this case. What’s the kids name?’

‘Blaine. Bravo, Lima, Alfa, India, November, Echo.’

‘He’s using someone else’s ID.’

She frowned, glancing at the picture again and back to the video feed. ‘It _is_ him, isn’t it?’

‘It looks a lot like him. And that’s a lot of food that he’s carrying.’

‘They must be getting short on supplies now. It would make sense.’

The man beside her raised an eyebrow. ‘Where is this live feed from?’ She rattled off the address and he leaned back in his seat. ‘How fast can we send someone in?’


	15. Chapter Fourteen

**Chapter Fourteen**

_‘We gain strength, and courage, and confidence by each experience in which we really stop to look fear in the face… we must do that which we think we cannot.’  
_ _-Eleanor Roosevelt_

With her own bags in hand, Santana walked calmly down the street. Her feet pounded onto the pavement and she measured the speed of every step carefully, weighing it out and making sure that she didn’t speed up. Speeding up would add suspicion, and there was enough suspicion on her already. She didn’t quite think the shop assistant had believed she was Penelope, the name on the ID card she had managed to slip out of a pocket. He’d given her the raised eyebrow, that look as if to say, _I’m not sure I believe you._ But he had let her go, and now she was walking down the street and keeping pace with the others around her and hoping it wouldn’t be obvious that she’d essentially just stolen what amounted to a good hundred dollars worth of food supplies, plus a toothbrush or two.

Almost as quickly as she had entered the central business district, she seemed to exit it, the people around her seeming to vanish. The streets became suddenly much less crowded, hardly even a car filling the parking spaces on either side of the road. She turned off onto a side street and suddenly it seemed like her and Blaine were level, the two of them walking side by side. His own hands were as filled as hers with shopping bags and she sighed. She’d been worried she’d bought too much.

‘Are you okay?’ she whispered to him, leaning her head slightly closer but barely moving her lips. He nodded, almost as imperceptibe as her actions had been.

‘Yeah, I’m fine. A little shaken up, but all fine.’

She nodded at him and smiled, a bright happy smile as she finally turned to face him. ‘We got food.’ She held up the bag in her left hand. ‘That’s an achievement on it’s own, isn’t it? And nobody raised any major eyebrows?’

It almost made him laugh and he reached up a hand to run across his own bushy one, removing the light sheen of sweat that had accumulated there.

He grinned. ‘No major eyebrows.’ And the way he said it was _proud,_ full of a sense of achievement and relief that they’d completed their goal. That’s they’d gotten out alright, and most of all _alive._

‘Why does this feel like so much of a relief?’ he asked, slowing their pace so they were walking leisurely out of the town. The car should be parked a few blocks up, and they could put the food into it, and they could go. Simple as that.

‘Because not only did we successfully pull off a heist, we can now feed ourselves for at least a week.’ She laughed and leaned back her head, letting the wind flow through it. ‘You’re a good partner in crime, Blaine the Hobbit.’

‘And you, too, Santana.’

And like that, it was a simple banter between two friends who had never really been friends before hand. Banter between two people who had gotten along to a degree, but now, they had a common experience between them. They had gone through something together, and they had come out closer because of it, and more connected. It was the kind of thing Blaine had heard about, but only ever experienced once, with Kurt. It seemed that mutual experiences did build firm friendships.

They were probably only a few blocks from the car. They had a general idea of where it would be, an idea of what they were going to find there. It should be a parking lot, similar to the one they had left, and deserted, with only their car, each of them piled into it, and a spot for Santana in the back, where Noah usually sat. All they’d have to do would be to put the bags into the back and then climb in before they drove off. And as Santana glanced at her wrist watch, she realised they were early.

They were _early._ Not only had they succeeded, they’d managed it _under_ the expected time.

But then something went wrong. 

Something neither of them - and not even the six others sitting inside the car only a few blocks away - had expected.

* * *

 

Inside the car, each set of eyes turned towards the small clock that sat on the dashboard. Eleven fifty-four it read. Only six minutes until Santana and Blaine should be back, and although none of them had said it out loud, they had all expected them to be there already. An hour had been a guideline, a deadline, and they were cutting it close.

‘Where are they?’ Kurt muttered under his breath, and he didn’t expect an answer but Rachel was replying to him.

‘They’re on their way.’

And that hurt. Because there was no way of knowing that, no way of being assured that they would even get here, that they wouldn’t have to leave two members of their group behind. That they wouldn’t have to leave without _Blaine._

 _‘_ Can you see them through the review mirror when no one else can, Rachel?’ he snarled. ‘Do you have a secret ability to see through walls that you just _happen_ to have never told us about?’ He was biting his lip, trying not to let a sob escape because he was _not_ weak, but just the prospect of being without Blaine, the idea that he might not be coming back, was enough to bring tears to his eyes.

‘No, I just have _faith,_ Kurt.’ Rachel’s voice was quiet, gentle, but he couldn’t accept what he assumed amounted to an apology. All he could do was press his palm against his eyes and grit his teeth and not say a word.

‘There’s still six minutes,’ Quinn said calmly. The clock ticked over and she corrected herself. ‘Five.’

But in reality, all of their hopes were quickly diminishing. Five minutes was not a long amount of time. Not in the scheme of things.

* * *

 

The street came alive in almost an instant. One moment, it had been gloriously quiet, only the two of them, Santana and Blaine, walking along the street. It had been simple, easy, and they had all the time in the world.

And then suddenly there was a flurry of activity. Men in dark clothes were stepping out of doorways, holding up stun guns and calling out their names, telling them to put their hands up in the air and drop the bags. 

But they couldn’t drop the bags. The bags were what they had come for, and even if they saved themselves by dropping them, it wouldn’t really be worth it. The group would only be starving within days and having to turn themselves in anyway. They were here now. They had to move forward.

‘Run.’

It was a broken whisper, falling from Blaine’s lips as he hefted the bags higher into his hands and then his feet were pounding along the pavement, in time with Santana’s. More footsteps were behind them, seeming to grow louder, but all they could do was pick up their pace, move faster, will their muscles to work in a way they never had before, not really. Even the speed and energy that had taken over them at the school, when they had first run away, moving from the same kind of figures, dressed all in black.

But then, the men had been inexperienced, naive. By the time they’d made their getaway, half of them were on the fall, keeled over and holding bruised muscles and bones. These men were stronger, smarter, and they knew what they were doing. The Regime had stepped up their game, and Santana and Blaine were suddenly trapped in the middle of it.

‘Oh my God,’ Santana husked between heavy breaths as she ran, her eyes scanning all around her. It was too much. Too many emotions, too many senses. She couldn’t think, she could only run. Run as if her life depended on it. And perhaps it did.

‘Blaine,’ she called out. ‘What do we do?’

‘We get to the car,’ he replied roughly. ‘We get to the car, and we tell Noah to drive. What else can we do?’

‘But we’re drawing them right to us, they’ll be able to follow us straight away!’ The end of the block was coming nearer, and it was clearly not too far until they would come across the car, and if they didn’t get into it and leave, they would be sitting ducks. And if they got into it and left, they would be chased teenagers. 

A lose-lose situation.

‘Stop!’ a voice called out, but Santana couldn’t turn her head. She only inhaled and kept running. ‘Stop!’

There was a zing of electricity, a flying projectile that missed her ankle by inches as she ran. A jolt of electricity ran through her as it fell, the small zap jumping from the end of the taser to her foot and up her leg. It wasn’t enough to slow her down, but enough to make her hiss in pain and skip a step as she ran.

‘They’re only tasers,’ she called out to Blaine. They don’t seem to have guns.’

But that was a mistake. Because at that moment, shots rang out, landing clear of them, but a definite warning that these men were only going to play nice for so long. Blaine and Santana’s only hope was that they would reach the car before they decided to get really angry.

They reached the corner, spinning around it, the bags flying, and then they could see the car. Kurt was turning in his seat, jaw open in shock as he opened the door. He jumped out quickly and opened the trunk, leaving it wide for their bags to go in and then he was back inside the seat, holding his arms open for Blaine to climb inside.

The next seconds seemed to pass in a blur. They were placing the bags inside at a run, slinging them in without any care, not for the bread, or the bottles of drink, or anything else that could be fragile. All they could care about were their own fragile bodies, and the protection that the car would serve them if they could just get inside, away from the men with their guns, and drive.

And then Blaine was falling into Kurt’s arms, the door being pulled shut behind him, and Santana was sliding into the back seat and then Noah’s foot was on the accelerator. The car screamed and ground as he struggled to put it into gear and then it was going, gaining speed quickly, much faster than the men on foot and then they were away.

But looking over his shoulder, Blaine knew it wouldn’t be for long, even as Kurt pressed light kisses into his shoulder and neck with his lips, whispering how glad he was that he was here and that he was safe.

Because one of the men was speaking into his wrist, into a watch that was wrapped around the limb. They were calling for back up. And back up wouldn’t come in the form of more men on foot. It would be something much more dangerous, he was sure.


	16. Chapter Fifteen

**Chapter Fifteen**

_‘When the final taps is sounded and we lay aside life’s care,  
_ _And we do the last and glories parade, on Heaven’s shining stairs,  
_ _And the angels bid us welcome and the harps begin to play,  
_ _We can draw a million canteen checks and spend them in a day,  
_ _It is then we’ll hear St Peter tell us loudly with a yell,  
_ _“Take a front seat you soldier men, you’ve done your hitch in Hell.”’  
_ _-Frank Bernard Camp, ‘Our Hitch In Hell’_

Inside the walls of William McKinley 3rd Level Education Institute, life was becoming tough. It was as if now that Kurt and Rachel and the others had run away, evading capture, the school was being placed on lock down, as if there was a worry that someone would run and join them. Sometimes, with the way Burt kept staring at him when he was at home, and the constant interrogations he faced at school, Finn wished he could.

The most he’d been able to gather from the conversations he overheard and participated in was that they hadn’t been caught yet. If they’d been caught, they wouldn’t be bothering to dig into their backgrounds, and ask anyone and everyone about connections they may have had. They would be sitting calmly and grinning smugly instead of this frantic energy, this constant _hum_ that thrummed throughout the school. It was like they were living on gossip, on misheard words and tales that had spread from person to person like fireworks or flames.

And Finn was stuck in the middle of it all, unable to defend them and risk being snapped up straight away by the Officers and the Leaders, and unable to be naive like everyone else. He couldn’t treat Rachel and Kurt as if they were just some other kids he didn’t know very well.

Sometimes, he wondered if it would really be that bad if he just ran off, found them and did what Burt seemed to want him to do with every angry or disappointed look. Would it be worse, on the run and fending for himself, than spending every day feeling under pressure, as if their safety was riding on his shoulders, and the information he struggled to keep secret. Wouldn’t it just be easier?

‘Finn,’ a stern voice said and he turned his head, coming face to face with Burt, who had been waiting for him in the car. His balding head shined in the late afternoon sun and he was holding open the car door, waiting for him to climb inside. ‘Get in.’

‘But-’ 

‘I want you to get in the car. I have something to tell you, and I think you have something you need to tell me.’

He looked behind him, at the school’s main doors. They were being pressed open by long slender hands, hands that wrapped around the heavy wood and pushed with a force that normally required hundreds of students to obtain. The hand belonged to an arm, and that arm was clothed in dark material and he was seeing the body of an Officer, pushing out into the sunshine, his eyes catching on him.

He wasn’t sure whether that look was meant for him, that look of _perhaps,_ but he wasn’t waiting to find out.

‘Okay,’ he breathed quickly, and slipped into the passenger seat as Burt got behind the wheel and drove.

* * *

 

The silence in the car was palpable. Kurt’s arms snaked around Blaine’s waist, holding him close. His face was buried in his shoulder, pressing into his skin as if he could not get enough, as if the contact was all that he could possibly rely on, as if all he needed was to breathe in his scent, absorb him whole, and then we would be fine, and he could survive anything.

But in that moment, barely having regained his breath and with the blood and adrenalin pumping through his veins, Blaine felt nothing like being able to survive anything. He felt very much like even the slightest danger would have him cringing on the floor, with his hands held above his head; and a cascade of tears would not be unexpected. He felt as if, even with Kurt holding him, looking out for him, or even just standing at his side, he would still be so vulnerable. And if Kurt was _there,_ that would only make him vulnerable too.

‘Don’t,’ he whispered gently, soft enough that over the hum of the motor and the wind slipping through the gaps in the windows, no one would hear it but Kurt. 

‘Don’t what?’ The returned whisper was just as quiet.

‘Don’t think I’m safe with you, or that you’re safe with me.’ He bit into his lip, leaning back into the embrace of Kurt’s arm as if perhaps it could work, perhaps if he tried hard enough, they could escape this, and be away from any and all danger that the world could provide. But it was impossible, and he knew it. He wasn’t naive. Not anymore.

‘You’re here, and I can protect you here,’ Kurt replied, but his voice was edged with fear and worry, as if Blaine’s words were truly taking effect and it terrified him.

‘But they can get us, anywhere. They’re going to be after us now, it’s just a matter of time.’

His eyes were dark, sad, and when he turned to catch Kurt’s eye, all he could see mimicked in the depths of blue was the same sadness. And he felt an unsettling and ugly feeling of guilt drop into the pit of his stomach, for ruining the ideal for Kurt.

‘Can’t we run?’ he whispered finally.

‘They’ll find us. They’re not stupid. All we have to do is hope that we can keep running until they stop.’ It was a hope, the only hope Blaine seemed to be able to catch on to at that moment in time. The only way he could see it working, their small group surviving the men with guns that had chased him and Santana down the street, was if they ran as if their heart depended on it until change was made, or until the men gave up. And neither of them seemed very likely.

‘They won’t stop.’ And Kurt’s voice was defeated. ‘We’re going to have to do something. We have to be _proactive.’_ He raised his voice slightly, loud enough that Santana turned her head to watch them. ‘We have to go to the source of all this, to the control centre in New York. We have to find the men who started this, or are running it now, and we have to put it _right.’_ His hands tightened around Blaine’s waist. ‘My Dad said it wasn’t always like this. That when his father was growing up, people lived in a family unit, you had the right to do what you wanted in the privacy of your own home. There was no real caste system, not like now. You worked for your own money, and you earned what you worked for, not what your Level told you you could earn.’ He gnawed at his lip again before pressing his forehead into Blaine’s shoulder. ‘I want that world, Blaine.’

‘I know you do,’ the boy replied. It seemed so perfect, such an idyllic world, and it seemed almost strange to think that it could have existed, and not so long ago too. It seemed too much to understand, and to interpret. But it seemed wonderful, and Blaine wanted that world too.

‘Could we be together there?’ he whispered softly, his voice back to the lowered tone so he could keep this wish a secret from the others, something just between them. ‘You and me, properly?’

Kurt frowned. ‘Dad said that- that people like us weren’t really accepted there, that it was kind of a hidden thing, like it is now, but-’ He shot Blaine a hopeful smile. ‘Maybe that’s something we can change in our new world.’

‘Our new world?’ He hummed the words almost happily. 

‘Yes.’

He gripped Kurt’s arms tightly and tried to draw them closer around him; he pulled his hands to his lips, kissing the knuckles over and over again.

And then someone was speaking, not Kurt but Noah. His voice was low, in warning, and it blinked Blaine from the trance of peace and tranquility he had seemed to fall into. He gripped Kurt’s hands tighter, fingernails digging into flesh.

‘It looks like we have company.’

* * *

 

‘They’re in a car now,’ a woman’s voice said. She was now on loud speaker, connected to a microphone attached to her lapel, and she stood in front of an interactive computer screen. Her fingers pressed into the touch screen, moving figures and images that turned and shifted of their own accord when she pulled away. ‘I think we’ll need a helicopter.’

‘Do we have one nearby?’ a man asked as he drew up beside her. He glanced down at the screen, observing the movement of the satellite image in the corner. It showed a car, packed full of heat signatures as it moved along the highway. 

‘There’s one here,’ the woman said, motioning to a position on her interactive map. ‘If we request them to move and take down this car - electronically of course, violence should only be a last resort with children - we can get men on foot to take the children away.’

The man bit his lip and ran a finger across the dimple of his chin. ‘So where’s the car on the map?’

The woman pointed again, and he caught sight of it, a fast moving, blinking red dot. He was surprised he hadn’t been able to spot it before. 

‘How long do you think?’

‘Five minutes. Maybe ten.’

He glanced at the upcoming path, along the route that the car seemed to be taking. About five or ten minutes along the path, the same kind of time as the helicopter, was a dark shadow across the highway. ‘What’s this?’ he asked.

The woman bit her lip. ‘That’s a tunnel.’

‘A tunnel?’

‘Yes.’

He turned to her with raised eyebrows. ‘What’s it made of?’

‘Steel.’ Her expression portrayed a considerable amount of guilt.

‘Will the helicopter make it in time?’

Her mouth was twisted into a taut line, cautious and worried, but knowledgeable only of the fact that this was the course of action she needed to take. It was what her training told her to do.

‘Yes,’ she said finally. ‘But it will be close.’

And she pressed her fingers into the screen, moving the helicopter towards the blinking image of the car, and in doing so, sending the order of attack to the men inside the flying vehicle.

* * *

 

‘What is it?’ Rachel leaned her head against the window, staring out at the sky where a large black dot loomed on the horizon. It was growing larger every second, coming quickly towards them.

‘I think it’s a helicopter.’ It was Tina who had spoken, and he voice was wavery, as if hopeful her hunch was wrong.

But Noah was nodding as he steered the car along the highway, careful not to reach too high speeds and lose control. It was one of the things Santana had warned him about.

‘It definitely looks like a ‘copter to me,’ he said. ‘You can almost see the rotors.’

And sure enough, as the huge flying vehicle came closer and closer, Rachel could see the large whirring blades that held it in the air. She could also see its gun turrets, sticking out from the bottom of its bulk and aimed in their direction. As soon as it came into range…

‘What do we do?’ she squealed, her voice suddenly rising in pitch and her words becoming pressed together. ‘It’s got guns and it’s going to shoot us!’

Santana leaned into the door of her seat and watched it, judging the turrets with a keen eye. ‘They’re not guns,’ she said softly.

‘Not guns?’

‘Not the type with bullets, anyway.’

Rachel took another glance, but had to turn away quickly, covering her face with her hands.

‘Then what are they?’ she asked.

‘They’re electronical. They take out the cars control system and stop us from going anywhere.’ She glanced out the front windscreen, leaning on the back of Rachel and Tina’s chair to see better. Ahead of them, the road curved in a wide circle before being lost inside a long dark tunnel. It was made of steel and concrete, with large solar panels covering its upper surface. It was perhaps five minutes from them, if they drove fast.

‘We take the tunnel,’ she said finally. ‘We get there as fast as we can, and we stay there.’

In the back seat, Quinn pursed her lips. ‘I don’t want Beth caught in the middle of a fight,’ she said.

Santana turned to look at her. ‘Fine,’ she said. ‘I’m sure there’s some kind of maintenance shaft in there. We’ll leave you and Beth there and pick you up after we’re clear.’

‘After what, though? What are you planning on doing?’

Santana set her jaw heavily. ‘Deferring every damn Officer that thinks they can get us.’

‘I’m going with you,’ Noah said, catching Quinn’s eye in the rearview mirror. Behind her, he could see the helicopter banking low and drawing close on their tail. ‘I’m not leaving you and Beth alone.’

She nodded softly and he looked back at the road and at the looming tunnel. 

With the helicopter roaring along behind them.

It would be a close call.

* * *

 

The maintenance shaft, when Quinn and Noah slipped into it, lifting Beth in with them, was dark and dusty. It had clearly remained unused for the last while, perhaps only being accessed whenever absolutely necessary.

‘Cosy?’ Noah whispered, placing Beth into Quinn’s lap as she sat against the wall. The little girl had been oddly calm throughout their time in the car, Quinn putting it down to the lulling motion of travel. At one point, she had raised her eyes to Quinn’s and frowned as her lower lip trembled. Her mother had pulled her flush to her chest and rocked her softly until she had calmed down.

But in the car, it had been alright. It was a simple matter of ensuring she was alright for her own sake. Now, if they didn’t remain quiet, someone could hear them and Noah’s fists, although effective, weren’t the best weapons if they were being fired upon by Officers.

Essentially, they were defenseless, and alone. 

‘I’m cosy,’ she whispered almost silently in return. Her hands settled around Beth’s waist and she pulled her tight, spinning her around so she faced her. The little girl willingly buried her head into her mother’s shoulder, wrapping her arms around her neck. It was a comfortable position to be in and she embraced it. Quinn leaned against the wall and used it to brace herself, bringing her knees up to support Beth’s backside.

‘I wonder how far this place goes?’ Noah whispered, and Quinn could tell it was to keep busy. His hands were almost shaking, and he kept running them down his thighs, brushing off the sweat. He refused to sit, and instead paced, and at these words, he walked a short way down the shaft, glancing back at her every few seconds to ensure she was alright. A moment later and he seemed to spot the end of the short side tunnel before he turned back, walking towards them. There was nothing he had to say, and instead he just shrugged.

They were obscured from the main tunnel by a ledge. It was about head height, giving access to beneath the road way, where wiring had been done. Work on this had likely been the main use of their maintenance shaft, as far as Quinn could determine from their position. But this ledge that rose just above their heads looked out onto the road, and it was at a perfect height for Noah to raise up on his toes and see over, just enough that the top of his head was peeking out, and look down the tunnel.

This was what he did now, pressing the tips of his fingers into the top of the ledge to give himself good leverage and a boost. 

‘Can you see anything?’ Quinn whispered. He was silent for a moment, observing, and then he leaned back down, his face stricken. 

Like wildfire, the panic shot into Quinn heart and bloodstream, dancing through her veins. He reached for her hand and she let him pull her up, holding Beth close so she came with them. Holding the little girl against her hip, she leaned up against the wall, pressing high onto the tips of her toes to see over the ledge. 

And there it was. At the end of the tunnel and coming towards them fast was a vehicle. It was sleek and black, unlike any of the other vehicles that had moved past their hiding hole, Noah watching them with wide eyes to check they weren’t Officers. This car had tinted windows and reinforced wheels. It looked big, and it looked nasty. The only consolation was there was only one of them.

It was quick when it happened. One moment, the car was cruising along the centre lane at high speed, its trajectory neat and straight.

And then suddenly, a tire - a strong, reinforced, thick rubber tire - burst and it spun out of control, crashing loudly into the wall only a few dozen metres away from their position. The whole front section of the car compacted, squishing flat, and the glass of the windscreen smashed. Together, Noah and Quinn watched in silence, waiting for movement, anything. There was nothing.

‘Woo!’ It was a cheer and it was coming from back up the tunnel, and suddenly they could see the figures crowded just outside a similar shaft, moving to get back inside from where they had blown out the wheel of the car. Blaine gave Santana a high five and then they climbed back into their shaft, voices returning to soft.

Despite the lack of sound that they could hear in their own shaft, Quinn had a feeling they were sharing pats on the back and rounds of support. They had achieved something, and even she felt confident. 

She leaned back against the wall, sliding down it until she was sitting against the floor in the same position she had held previous. Carefully, Noah sat beside her, the first time he had relaxed enough to not pace. It niggled at the back of her mind, worried her that they had become even slightly complacent and that the two of them weren’t on their feet for the quickest movement, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. 

It was too easy to allow his arm to slip around her shoulder, and her head to rest against his. It was comforting, and she allowed it to happen, and she allowed herself to trust him.

* * *

 

About twenty metres down the main tunnel, sitting with her back against the wall of the other maintenance shaft, Rachel smiled. It seemed amazing - _elating,_ even - that they had managed to make a mark. Everything else they had done had been reactive. They had ran, they had hidden, they had driven as fast as their car could safely take them, but still it had all been in _response_ to the Regime, to the Officers. Now, by simply breaking the wheels of the Officers car and causing it to crash into the wall, they had made a change. They were not simply a group of teenagers who were running in fear from something they knew was pursuing them. They were teenagers making a stand.

And that was what they had wanted to be from the beginning. That had been the point of their actions. They were _making a stand_ against the Regime. And now, at least for Rachel, it felt as if it was actually happening. They were actually _doing_ something.

Sure, she found it a lot calmer, a lot safer, when they were running. But it was blind, and it was without real focus or reason. It’s only true benefit was the small sense of safety that accompanied the moments when the enemy was far enough away to breathe again. Complacency could be let in, and then actions like what seemed like days ago but was really only ten or twenty minutes happened. They could get used to being safe, and then suddenly they weren’t, and they didn’t know what to do.

At least now they were making the plans, not having them decided as they went along.

Proactive.

It was something she was enjoying immensely.

She leaned her head against the cement wall, humming at the cool feel of the building material behind her back.

‘That was amazing,’ she whispered, almost half to herself, but Kurt was coming closer to her, sitting down near her. Blaine was on the other side of their small room-like compartment, talking to Santana about their achievements with the car, and he was too animated for anyone to move his attention.

‘It was quite great, wasn’t it?’ Kurt said softly. She turned her head to face him and nodded. 

‘Was it just me or did it feel like we were actually _doing_ something?’

The boy laughed. ‘It’s definitely not just you,’ he said. He leaned his own head against the cement and shot her a grin. ‘When I started this thing, I wanted us to be making a stand, actively going against the Regime. I didn’t plan for us to be on the run, of course,’ he added quickly. ‘But I wanted us to be working for something, doing something to make a change in our world.’

She nodded. ‘I know.’ She reached out her hands in front of her, observing her fingernails for a moment. ‘Do you really think we’re doing something? Do you think anything will change?’

Kurt bit his lip, mulling it over between his teeth. ‘I have hope.’

‘But you don’t know for sure.’ Her voice was defeated, the joy in it from earlier gone.

‘No, but I desperately want something to happen. I want to be able to walk hand in hand with Blaine in public, and _tell_ people that we are together, and not have them beat us to a pulp or arrest us. I want to be able to kiss him and show him how much I love him, and marry him, despite the fact that he should be a 2nd Level and I’m only a 3rd. It shouldn’t _matter_ and I don’t _want_ it to matter.’ His chest heaved and he pressed the butt of his palm into his eye to stem the tears he could feel building there. At his words, Blaine turned around but didn’t move, keeping to his spot on the other side of the room. ‘I don’t want to be told who I can _love,’_ Kurt continued angrily. ‘I want to have the freedom to follow my own heart, and I’d rather die than remain without those opportunities.’

Blaine was biting his lip, and Rachel could tell he was itching to move across the room, only his own hesitation to break into their conversation refraining him. _I love you,_ he mouthed, something he seemed to do often, but Kurt didn’t see it. _I don’t want you to die._

And then suddenly, Santana was hissing at them from across the room frantically, motioning with her hand for them to be quiet, although Kurt’s voice had barely risen above a low whisper. They cut off their conversation immediately, Rachel shooting Kurt a frantic glance, but he had eyes only for Blaine. They were sharing a conversation, communicating with facial expressions and eye movements, and then Blaine was across the room, lifting Kurt from his spot against the wall and hugging him tight.

Just as quickly, he pulled away, stepping towards Santana. She was leaning against the ledge, watching out into the tunnel. Rachel and Kurt walked behind them, the small girl using their shoulders as leverage.

Out in the tunnel, towards the entrance, the sun glared. It shone down, obscuring the outside world from view when their eyes were used to the dim of the tunnel. But it was only seconds until their eyes adjusted and they saw it.

Not one car, but _a lot_ of cars. And they were screaming down the road outside the tunnel, heading towards them. The first car had been nothing but a scout, the first team that had been sent in to check out their plans. It had been sacrificed through their actions, but now, the Officers were smarter. They would know what had happened to their comrades, and they were not going to go lightly.

The fight would be harder to win this time.

But the stakes if they lost were disastrous.

Kurt gripped Blaine’s hand and squeezed it tight, and Santana reached for Tina, drawing her close beside her. Rachel only stood, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

‘Let’s do this,’ Santana whispered.


	17. Chapter Sixteen

**Chapter Sixteen**

_‘Who can hope to be safe?  
_ _Who sufficiently cautious?  
_ _Guard himself as he may,  
_ _Every moment’s an ambush.’  
_ _-Horace_

The truck rumbled past, grinding its gears harshly at the traffic lights before continuing on. Inside the maintenance shaft, Quinn reached for Beth’s hand, holding her close. The vehicle stormed past, but from where Noah was stationed with just his eyes above the entrance, he gave a shaky nod.

‘Looked like a farmer,’ he whispered.

The driver of the truck had indeed been a farmer, but it wasn’t the truck that he was now worried about.

‘But there’s two black cars at the far end. They have tinted windows, so I can’t see in, but they don’t have number plates and they look legit.’

Quinn bit her lip and moved Beth onto her lap. ‘We have no communication with the others, so we can’t let them know,’ she murmured softly. ‘I guess the best we can do is hope they’re onto it. They got the last ones, didn’t they?’

He nodded. ‘Yeah, that’s kind of what I’m worried about though.’ He collapsed back down beside the girl and her daughter, positioning his arm so it looped around Quinn, but didn’t touch her. She looked at his arm warily, but didn’t move away.

‘What do you mean?’ she said instead.

‘I mean, now that two cars have been derailed and removed of the surveillance and communications systems, I’m sure it appeared on the other Officer’s radars. I mean, wouldn’t you be paying attention to all your patrols if there was a band of dangerous criminals on the run?’

‘We’re not dangerous criminals,’ she warned.

‘Fugitives, then. Whatever.’ Noah shrugged, reaching out to run a hand through the hair of the small girl in Quinn’s lap. ‘I’m just- I have this feeling that this patrol might be forewarned.’

Quinn sighed heavily, moving her head as her daughter reached up with a tiny hand to press it into her cheek. ‘Yeah, I know. I’m feeling it too.’

‘You’re worried about them,’ he said. It was a statement, not a question, but she answered it anyway. 

‘Yeah.’

She turned her head downcast, and with only the slightest look of hesitation, he lifted the arm behind her back, wrapping it tight around her shoulders and pulling his small family into a hug. ‘You’re a beautiful mother, Quinn,’ he whispered.

‘And you’re an asshole of a father,’ she replied, but there was no bite to it.

‘I know.’

And in that moment - that beautiful, peaceful serene moment, that Noah wished he could capture and hold onto for a long time, just him and Quinn and Beth - there came a loud rumble, louder than the truck and closer to their maintenance shaft. And then it stopped.

Quinn turned her head to look at him, eyes blown wide with shock, and he stepped away, pulling his arm back to claim it as his own. He reached the edge of the shaft and peered over the end, observing the tunnel. 

Just one tunnel over, peering over the identical ledge to the one Noah was now resting the bridge of his nose against, was a team of Officers. They moved with practice and ease, as if they knew what they were searching for, and they knew it was just a matter of time until they found it.

He ducked back down behind the protective wall and slid backwards on his hands and knees until he was beside Quinn again.

‘They’re looking for us,’ he whispered.

‘What?’

‘They’re in the next tunnel up, looking for us. Is there anywhere we can hide?’

She shook her head fearfully, her voice cracking as she spoke in the hurried whisper they had become accustomed to. ‘We _are_ hiding.’

‘Not anymore,’ he replied, and reached for Beth, hauling her into his arms and over his shoulder. ‘Now we’re sitting ducks.’

And then the worst thing that could ever happen, happened. It was to be expected, and at every turn that he had been wary of it, of the little girl now flung carefully over Noah’s shoulder. But the panic had made him careless, and he had forgot to check that she was alright, that she was comfortable and happy. And that she wasn’t aware of how much danger they were in.

Because now the girl cried, and it wasn’t a gentle cascade of tears down her cheeks. It was a loud, screeching bawl.

And somewhere, just outside their maintenance shaft, a male voice called, ‘I hear it! I hear the kid!’

And all hell broke loose.

* * *

 

From his position on the other side of the tunnel, hiding behind the high wall of the maintenance shaft, Kurt peeked his head over the edge. Blaine was standing beside him, holding his hand carefully and tightly, trying to convey as much comfort in the touch as he possibly could. 

They were watching as Santana and Tina fixed up the track of old nails that they had used earlier to stop the first car, but Kurt had a distinct feeling burrowing its way into the pit of his stomach that it would be pointless. Even if these Officers hadn’t seen it with their own eyes, they would almost certainly have received some kind of information about their plan. It would have to be different, or a very big coincidence for their plan to succeed, and neither of these were proving likely, despite the fact that Santana tried to make sure the nails spread all across the tunnel this time. 

The car was coming too fast, approaching them at incredibly high speeds. Clearly, their driver knew something that no one else knew in the arts of controlling vehicles. Kurt watched in amazement, expecting it to tip, or at least fly off the edge of the wide curving road as it lost control.

But still it sped on towards the tunnel, wheels flying at a blur, to the point that they appeared to be moving slowly backwards. It was too much, and it took all their attention, everyone’s attention.

And then Kurt realised. That was the point. Because out of his peripheral vision, he saw a blur. It was moving quickly along the wall opposite their maintenance shaft, followed by more of its kind and when he turned his head, he realised it was an Officer. He was clad all in the black, and the cement walls and shadow obscured him partially.

Kurt squeezed Blaine’s hand, hissing a quick noise to catch him attention. ‘Blaine.’

‘What?’

‘Look.’

‘It’s a freaking fast car, Kurt. I can tell.’

‘Not the car.’ 

The younger boy turned his head, following Kurt’s line of sight and then he saw it. The Officers were peering into the maintenance shafts along the other side of the tunnel, peering into them intently and holding their guns upward, fingers on the trigger. Kurt couldn’t tell from the distance, but he had a pretty distinct feeling the safety catches would be off. 

And they were heading towards the maintenance shaft they had left Noah, Quinn and Beth at.

‘They’re defenseless,’ Kurt whispered, turning to Blaine and shaking his arm anxious. ‘Quinn and Noah and Beth are being hunted by Officers and they’re _defenseless.’_

Blaine’s eyes were wide. ‘What do we do?’

‘We go save them of course!’ It seemed like an obvious decision to Kurt, but apparently Blaine saw the logic in the situation because he glanced out at the road, at the long expanse of tarmac between them and the opposite side of the tunnel. If they went to save Quinn, Noah and Beth they would have to run across the tunnel. Where they would be fully exposed. With a speeding car coming towards them. It was practically suicide.

‘There must be another way over there.’ There was a pleading edge to Kurt’s voice, but even he could see the hopelessness of their situation. There was nothing they could do. They just had to watch, while their friends were ambushed by Officers.

But then Blaine was speaking

‘This is a maintenance shaft!’ His voice almost seemed elated, as if incredibly happy that he had discovered the solution. He grabbed Kurt’s hand, pulling him further back into the small side tunnel. 

‘But- wait- Quinn- _Beth.’_

But Blaine was adamant. ‘Kurt,’ he said quickly. ‘This shaft must do maintenance on _some_ part of the tunnel, right? And there’s a lot of electronics. My bet, it’s for the power system beneath the road itself, which means that if we find how to get under there, we should be able to get across to the other side of the tunnel.’

‘Beneath the road?’

‘Beneath the road.’

They were running full pelt now, and Kurt spared a glance over his shoulder. The others were going to wonder where they had gone, if they were safe, but there was nothing they could do. They just had to keep going if they were going to save their friends.

The tunnel sloped downwards, even lower than it already was, and Blaine suddenly drew Kurt aside, opening a door that read “entrance”.

‘How do you know this is it?’

He glanced up at the sign again, raising an eyebrow. ‘It’s a pretty good bet.’

‘What if it’s wrong though?’

Blaine rolled his tongue around his mouth, testing out the thought slowly. ‘If it’s not, we won’t get there in time anyway. We might as well try it.’

And he pushed Kurt forward with a simple hand to the small of his back. The two of them picked up their pace and they were running, sprinting, down the corridor that, as Blaine had guessed, travelled under the road. They could see the cement roof above them and the wires hanging from it.

Almost too quickly, they reached the other end of the path, and it rose higher, opening at another door similar to the one they had before pushed through. They were on the other side of the tunnel.

* * *

 

Inside the shaft’s nook, Quinn reached quickly for Beth, roughly tugging her from Noah’s grip and pressed her close to her chest, rocking her softly to try and make her calm down.

‘Where do we go?’ she hissed angrily. ‘What do we do?’

Noah spun his head, glancing around the area. The high wall kept them out of view of the tunnel, but only if the Officers didn’t look in, and already they could hear their heavy footfalls drawing ever closer, searching them out. 

‘Run,’ he whispered. 

Quinn turned, moving down the corridor, but with Beth, she was awkward and her gait was loping as she tried to keep her steady, and Noah pressed his hand against the small of her back, leading her gently. Together they ran, but they had barely gone ten yards when there was a yell from behind them.

‘Stop! Put your hands up!’

Noah hesitantly raised his hands, but Quinn had Beth in her arms. 

‘I can’t. I’m holding a child,’ she said in a frightened, shaky voice. ‘What do you want me to do?’

The voice paused for a second, then continued, calling slightly louder, ‘Put the kid on the ground at your feet and raise your hands.’

Quinn hesitantly set Beth down, running her thumb quickly along her cheek to brush away a tear before lifting up her hands.

They were trapped. They were being taken. And there was nothing they could do about it.

And then suddenly there was a crash.

Blaine was jumping down from the main tunnel, leaping off the ledge and landing on the back of one of the Officers. Kurt followed, pushing the other man into the wall and his head connected with a sickening thud before he fell with a slight moan to the floor. The other man was walking blindly, Blaine’s arms having wrapped around his eyes and obscured his sight. But his gun was still in his hand and it swung wildly, aiming one moment at Quinn then at Kurt. Blaine kicked out at it with his hand and it fell with a knock to the ground. 

Kurt dived for the gun. His hand wrapped around it’s hilt and he slid it away from the kicking legs of the Officer, holding it to his hip. There was only one man left now and he seemed the youngest of the group, looking on with wide, wild eyes. 

Blaine kicked the Officer he was holding with the butt of his heel, swing his boot into the man’s groin. He fell over, collapsing to the ground like his first mate. And then Blaine turned to the final Officer.

‘Don’t hurt me!’ the man begged, holding up his hands. ‘I- I didn’t mean anything by it! I’m just doing my job!’

His bottom lip was shaking, and when Blaine looked at him, he realised he was hardly older than school age. He was definitely the rookie of the team, just like Blaine. And so Blaine held out his hand, shaking it gently to motion for the boy to put down his hands.

‘We will let you remain unharmed,’ he said softly, as Kurt came beside him, handing him the gun. He moved it in his grasp, weighing it gently, despite the fact that he had no experience with guns. It was a motion he had picked up from movies. ‘If,’ he continued. ‘You tell your bosses in the Regime that we are dead, that every single one of our group died in your attack. We did not survive. You will let us go on our way, and you will tell your work fellows to do the same.’

Blaine felt older when he spoke like this, authoritative, despite the fact that he was considerably younger than the young Officer. 

‘Yes, yes, of course,’ the boy said quickly and he shot Blaine a small thankful smile. ‘Thank you, thank you.’

He smiled back, letting the gun hang loosely in his hand, relaxed.

But then Quinn gasped.

He spun around quickly, coming face to face with the first Officer, that Kurt had cracked against the wall. His gun was in his hand and he was holding it out, pointing it at Blaine’s heart.

‘No!’ Kurt gasped, moving towards him, but the man was already pressing down at the trigger and all Blaine could do was lift the gun in his hand and pull down on his own, hoping for the best.

And with Blaine’s final movement, the man fell, face blank with shock and deathly pale.

But as he fell, one final shot rang out. It echoed around the small room, bouncing off their walls seemingly louder than anything else that had every permeated that room, shocking the walls.

And Kurt crumpled.


	18. Chapter Seventeen

**Chapter Seventeen**

_‘Even at our birth, death does but stand aside a little. And every day he looks towards us and muses somewhat to himself whether that day or the next he will draw nigh.’  
_ _-Robert Bolt_  

 _‘Kurt!’_ Blaine’s voice broke as he let out the cry, dropping to his knees and somehow rushing to the boy in the same moment, taking him into his arms. Blood was everywhere, dripping off his hands, soaking his clothes as well as Kurt’s, sticking to his skin and the concrete ground. It smelt, Blaine noticed, of copper and salt, filling his nose and overpowering it. Kurt’s blood. Not just blood. _Kurt’s_ blood.

‘Oh my God,’ he murmured to himself, and he hardly realised he was saying it. All he could see was the blood and the pain on Kurt’s face and _Oh God, was he dead?_ ‘Kurt!’

There was a moan and then the boy was moving against Blaine’s arms, shaking, but he was most definitely there, and he was most definitely alive. 

‘Kurt,’ Blaine said quickly, worry and panic highly evident in his tone. ‘Are you alright? Can you move? Does it hurt? Are you okay?’

He groaned again, and one hand reached up to cup his other shoulder. For the first time, Blaine noticed the wound itself, a dark round hole, slightly charred, but overpowered with the glowing red blood. It was already starting to congeal, turning an ugly brown, and somewhere in the back of Blaine’s mind, he realised he should be thankful. The bullet had clearly only hit a vein, because the blood only flowed, and did not pulse in angry red spurts.

‘I-’ the boy murmured, closing his eyes as if the world was too bright. ‘I’m okay, Blaine. I’m okay.’

But he didn’t look okay. He looked pale, pale as death, and his limbs were floppy and weak. 

‘No, you’re not okay,’ Blaine murmured. ‘You’re hurt. You’re so hurt.’ He squeezed him tight, not caring about the copious amounts of blood that were going to get on his clothes. They were going to get there anyway.

‘Here.’ It was Noah, and he had ripped off his own shirt, tearing into two pieces and rolling one piece up into a tube and passing it to Blaine. ‘Wrap this around it to stem the flow. A tourniquet.’

Blaine was surprised Noah had that kind of knowledge, but gladly took the shirt and with shaking fingers, tied it around Kurt’s shoulder. The blood was already slowing, and Blaine took it as a good sign, but there was already so much, and how much blood could one small body lose?

‘Lift him up,’ Noah said, motioning for Blaine to lift Kurt. 

He tried, bringing his feet beneath him, but Kurt was too heavy, and his legs were shaking. ‘Can you-?’ he asked brokenly.

Noah didn’t even respond. He only reached down and slid one hand beneath Kurt’s knees, the other beneath the small of his back before hauling him into the air. ‘Where do we go?’ he asked.

Blaine motioned to the back of the small maintenance shaft, pointing into it. ‘That way. There’s a door and it leads under the road.’

He bit his lip, trying to stop the flow of tears that were threatening to cascade down his face.

‘ _Blaine.’_ It was a broken sob and it came from Kurt’s lips. He reached out a shaky hand, the one free from the tourniquet, and the blood and the damage, and Blaine took it with a weak smile.

‘I’m right here, Kurt,’ he murmured softly. ‘I’m right here.’

‘Don’t leave me, Blaine.’ 

And he couldn’t stop the tears from falling, couldn’t stop them seeping down his face, tracking through smears of already drying blood.

‘I’m never leaving you, Kurt.’

* * *

 

The car was silent as Burt drove, Finn leaning against the passenger side door. 

‘Where are we going?’ he asked softly, breaking into the noiselessness. Burt was made, Finn could tell, but he didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know what was expected of him, and all he could do was not make eye contact, and try and figure the situation out.

‘Somewhere where we can park and talk.’ The reply was terse and blunt, and Finn raised an eyebrow.

‘Why do we need to talk?’

‘I have some things I need to tell you, and some questions you need to answer for me.’

‘What kind of questions?’ He bit his lip, nervous as to what the answer would be, but Burt only shot him a smirk and turned back to the road.

‘The kind of question that will make you uncomfortable, but hopefully spark some thoughts in that head of yours.’

‘What- what do you mean?’

Burt didn’t reply until he found a side road that he deemed worthy and turned onto it, parking the car with careful precision. There was never any doubt in anyone’s mind that Burt did not care about his cars. It was part of the reason he was one of the few people in town with one. For most, it was a luxury, a sign of wealth, but his car was an old beat up pick-up truck, and it had been in his family since his father was fresh out of high school, before public transport became the modus operandi for most people. 

‘Finn,’ he said softly, turning to face his stepson. ‘I know you said you didn’t want to put yourself in danger for nothing, but seeing as we haven’t heard anything about Kurt or Rachel or Blaine or any of the others, I have this feeling in my gut that they are safe. Somewhere, somehow. And I want you to find them.’

‘But how do I-?’

Finn stopped him, holding up a hand. ‘Remember when you said Rachel told you she was supposed to be an Illegal. That she lived with two dads, but not her mother. That she’d never met her, and only had a name on her birth certificate?’

Finn nodded cautiously.

‘Well, I found one of her fathers the other day, and with a bit of sweet talking, he agreed that it would be for the best to give me her mothers details. I have her name and address.’

The boy’s eyes opened wide in amazement.

‘And?’ he whispered.

Burt nodded as he continued. ‘And her father thinks that if Rachel needed anywhere to go where she knew she was safe, she would go to her mothers. She didn’t know anything about her, but she knew enough to know that the woman must be against the Regime, if she was willing to sign the birth certificate for her, and have her name permanently on her ID card.’

Finn returned the nod. ‘Of course.’

Slowly and with deliberate movements, Burt handed him a slip of paper that had been resting on his lap. ‘This is for you, if you want it.’

It was a hastily scribbled note in Burt’s own handwriting, with hardly anything on it.

‘New York?’

‘New York. It’ll take a few days to get there if you take the first train, but it shouldn’t be too difficult.’

‘And then I just-’ Finn asked. ‘What? Show up on her doorstep saying “hey, I’m your daughter’s boyfriend. I’m here to help”?’

‘What else can you say?’

He sighed and leaned her head back heavily against the headrest of the car seat. ‘I’ll sound like an idiot.’

Burt pursed his lips. ‘No, you’ll sound like a boyfriend who cares about his girlfriend. And isn’t that what you want? Isn’t that who you _are.’_

Finn shook his head, but it wasn’t really in disagreement. It seemed insane to him, the idea of catching a train to New York and finding Rachel’s mom, that it would be that simple. That it _could_ be that simple. And totally legal, until it came to the part where he would likely come in contact with Rachel and the others, where he might get done for harboring a fugitive.

‘Is it- is it really worth it?’ 

Burt shrugged his shoulders. ‘I don’t know, Finn,’ he said. ‘But if your mom was on the run from Officers, I would be helping her with everything I have, and I mean that.’

* * *

 

As the last Officer, who Blaine had threatened, scampered off down the tunnel and towards the entrance, where they assumed the helicopter would pick him up, Noah lifted Kurt into the back of their car, which was parked on an angle at the edge of the maintenance shaft they had based their main operations at. 

He was incredibly, deathly pale, but when Blaine had calmed down enough to think of anything except _Kurt got shot,_ he could see that it was only a simple shot. It was clean, and it went through no vital organs or arteries, only tissue and muscle. It would hurt like hell, and probably for a long time, but it wouldn’t be fatal.

‘What happened?’ Rachel asked, watching Kurt with wide eyes. She had a hand over her stomach, as if worried she would vomit from the stench of the blood. Blaine was sure he would have been sick already had it not been for the lack of food in his stomach and his overriding fear that Kurt would not be able to make it. 

‘It- one of the Officers- they were trying to-’ In Blaine’s mind, he could make the words line up and make perfect normal sentences, but when he tried to speak them, they jumbled and failed. He sat at the edge of the trunk and held Kurt’s hand and squeezed it tightly, closing his eyes for a moment.

‘Blaine?’ Rachel asked. She was looking at him with raised eyebrows, as if unsure how to talk to him, how to address what was wrong. The situation was unreal, too complicated, and it shouldn’t have happened. It _shouldn’t_ have happened.

‘Does anywhere know some place we could go?’ Blaine managed to form the words finally. ‘Somewhere where we can get medical attention?’ He bit his lip worriedly. ‘Somewhere safe?’

Rachel shot another glance at Kurt, at the flush of dark red against his shirt, and Noah’s. ‘My mom’s.’

‘What?’ 

‘My mother’s. She lives in New York. I’ve never met her, but if she signed my birth certificate, she can’t be all bad, can she? She has to be with us, against the Regime?’

Blaine furrowed his eyebrows, unconvinced, but Kurt was murmuring almost intelligible words and he leaned his head closer to hear. ‘What is it?’ he asked.

‘Rachel’s…’ he breathed. ‘Safe…’ 

‘Okay,’ the younger boy said, piecing the words together. ‘Okay. We’ll go.’ He turned his head to meet Rachel’s gaze. ‘How do we get there?’

She pursed her lip and drew out her ID card. ‘If we can get to New York, I know the address.’ 

Santana was standing feet away, and she quickly took the card from Rachel’s grasp, glancing at the words written on it. Then she turned to Blaine. ‘Do you reckon your little Officer will have gotten rid of all the others yet?’ She had clearly been filled in by Noah and Quinn. 

‘I don’t know.’

‘Then we’re going to have to wait here for a while to be sure.’ She glanced at the watch on her wrist as it ticked slowly. ‘It’s getting late. Maybe we should just eat and stay here the night, and then leave in the morning.’

‘In the morning?’ Blaine asked, and it came out a sigh. He glanced at Kurt, but the boy was nodding, hissing as the movement of his muscles pulled at the wound in his shoulder.

‘I- I’m fine,’ he breathed. 

‘You’re not fine,’ Blaine returned.

‘I can survive.’

He tried to respond, come up with a reason that would persuade Kurt that leaving now would be for the best, but the solid glint in his eye let him know that the boy’s mind was made up. They were staying here for the night and leaving in New York for the morning.

‘Come on,’ Santana said, reaching over Kurt to pull out the grocery bags she and Blaine had pushed in quickly earlier, before all this all started. _Before Kurt got shot._ ‘It’s no good starving. We need to eat.’ And she lifted the bags down into the maintenance shaft, passing them to Tina. ‘We’ll leave in the morning.’

And although Blaine was not convinced, he bit his lip, looking back at Kurt and squeezing his hand tightly again. There was nothing he could do. All he could do was wait, and hope.

* * *

 

The train was musty, its air too humid to breathe. It festered and bred in the ventilation system, the railway itself moving too fast to take in new oxygen, and instead recycling it until everyone on board wondered when the inevitable of passing out would take place.

Finn was no exception to the rule. In his compartment, which he shared with two others - an old woman who wanted to do nothing but knit, and her young grandson who was fascinated with his own shoelaces and the basketball that was resting on top of Finn’s bag - he breathed deeply, pulling the air into his nose with effort and expelling it roughly. He was on the verge of hyperventilating, just to get enough oxygen, but the boy kept looking at him strangely already, and he wasn’t sure he was ready for that kind of attention.

He was on his way to New York. To find Rachel’s mom. Who he’d never met. Who _Rachel_ had never met.

It seemed insane. The way Burt had put it seemed perfectly reasonable, as if it was stupid he hadn’t thought of it already. But now, sitting on the train and unable to turn back, it seemed as if it was the most stupid thing in the world. She wouldn’t want to talk to him. She was probably tight with the Regime, and would send him home straight away or worse, hand him over for consorting with fugitives.

It would end in complete disaster, he was sure. But he was on his way, and he couldn’t turn back now, could he? He was locked in, like a bad quiz game on television. He had to complete this, see it through. And if it didn’t work out? Well, he’d have to sort that out when he came to it.


	19. Chapter Eighteen

**Chapter Eighteen**

_‘The lamb is, indeed, the emblem of love; but what so terrible as the wrath of the lamb? The depth of the mercy despised is the measure of the punishment of him that despiseth. No more fearful words than those of the Saviour. The threatenings of the law were temporal, those of the gospel eternal. It is Christ who reveals the never-dying worm, the unquenchable fire, and He who contrasts with the eternal joys of the redeemed the everlasting woes of the lost. His loving arms would enfold the whole human race, but not while impenitent or unbelieving; the benefits of his redemption are conditional.’  
_ _-Edward Thompson_

Santana and Tina put together a meal of bread rolls and processed ham, passing around a bottle of lemonade for each of them to drink from. It fizzed on Blaine’s tongue, dancing down his throat, and he passed it carefully to Kurt. 

The older boy held it in one hand, guiding it towards his lips, but Blaine’s hand remained on the base of the bottle, never letting it drop. The position was awkward, but it was the best Kurt could do with limited movement in his right shoulder. 

‘Thank you,’ he murmured softly to Blaine as the boy drew the drink away. He smiled and slid off the edge of the trunk, taking the few short steps to the edge of the maintenance shaft to pass the bottle back down.

His return to the car was in silence. 

‘What’s wrong, Blaine.’

There was nothing wrong. Not really. Nothing but the obvious things, the fact that there was the traces of a bullet through Kurt’s shoulder, that they were practically in the middle of war, that they were fugitives on the run and that their lives would constantly be in danger.

But that wasn’t what Kurt meant. Kurt meant about Blaine. He’d always meant about Blaine.

‘I’m fine.’ And he thought he was telling the truth. He could have been _sure_ he was telling the truth, but when Kurt used his good hand to grip Blaine’s pulling it tight towards him and holding it to his heart, he wasn’t so sure.

‘You’re not fine, Blaine. You’re all moody and silent.’

‘You’re shot.’

‘And I’m still talking.’

It was a valid argument. ‘It’s nothing, Kurt. Really.’

‘It’s something.’ But he bit his lip and leaned back against the wall of the car trunk, wincing. ‘You’re upset.’

‘I’m fi-’

‘Stop _saying_ that!’ Kurt’s voice was suddenly loud and it echoed around the car, bouncing against the metal roof and walls, and Blaine was sure that the others, down inside the maintenance shaft, would have heard him.

‘Whatever.’

‘Why won’t you _talk_ to me?’ And his voice was pleading, raising higher than normal at the end. He pressed the hand of Blaine’s that he held tighter into his chest. ‘It’s like one thing happened and then suddenly you’re a different person. I’m still Kurt. I may have lost the use of my arm, but I’m _still Kurt.’_

Blaine grit his teeth together. ‘I just don’t want to lose you.’

With that, it seemed to fall into place in Kurt’s mind. It was almost too obvious. He was upset, and worried, and as always, upset and worried Blaine was shutting himself out of the world, so he didn’t have to feel. It was easier that way.

‘Hey,’ he said quickly, squeezing his fingers between his own. ‘I’m not going anywhere.’

But to Blaine, it seemed like an impossible promise, one that he was never sure he could keep. Not when it could have ended so easily. A few inches to the right and he would be gone now. If the bullet had of nicked an artery, he would have lost too much blood. There were too many ways everything could go wrong, and so many ways that it still could.

‘Don’t you,’ he asked softly, ‘think that now this has happened, now that you’re shot and weak, that we’re different from them?’

‘From who?’ Kurt replied.

‘Them. The others. Down there.’ His voice had fallen to a whisper and he cocked his head lightly to the side, motioning towards the maintenance shaft. Kurt turned his head to look, but it strained his muscles and he winced.

‘Why?’ he whispered.

Blaine bit his lip. ‘I mean, before hand, we’d all been through the same things, right? We were all just teenagers, trying to do something to change our world. But- but being _shot.’_ He rolled his tongue around his mouth anxiously. ‘Most of them will probably never experience that.’

‘ _You_ haven’t experienced that, Blaine.’ Kurt tried to smile, but it was thin, and lacking in most of its humor.

‘Do you know what it feels like to see someone you love fall like you did? And the _shot_?’

Kurt took in his breath in what was almost a gasp, but could only shake his head.

‘It- it was _horrible._ The shot was like- it was like the air was splitting apart. I wondered if I’d ever be able to breath again, if I would ever be able to draw air into my lungs.’ He winced unconsciously. ‘And then seeing you collapse? I thought you were _dead,_ Kurt.’

‘But I’m not.’

He sighed. ‘But you could have been, and that’s what scared me so much. It still scares me. That you _could_ have died.’

He ran a hand roughly through his hair while Kurt watched him. A million galaxies were passing behind those eyes, searching for the answer to a question he was barely sure he knew the words to.

‘I love you,’ he managed finally.

Blaine smiled grimly. ‘I just- I think it’s separated us. Us from them. Can’t you feel it?’

But he never repeated the words that night. He never said them back.

* * *

 

Down in the maintenance shaft, Rachel was trying to control the conversation. Her loud and whiny voice echoed in the cavernous space, but Tina was biting her nails absently and Quinn and Noah were talking between themselves. Santana was the most blatantly obvious of them all, staring at the ceiling and humming to herself between momentary outbursts of, ‘No one’s listening!’ and ‘Shut up, already!’

But she talked onwards anyway, seemingly unable to stop. To the others, it was an annoyance, a mere buzzing fly in the background, but to her, it was a release. It was a way to feel as if she was participating in their environment, making an impact. And wasn’t that the reason she had joined this crusade after all? To make an impact?

‘And don’t you think it’s so horrible, what happened to Kurt?’ she said, motioning with her hands, despite the fact that no one was watching her, or even listening. ‘We need to find him medical attention before the wound becomes infected.’

‘No one is listening!’ Santana called out again, and collapsed on her back, raising her hands towards the ceiling. ‘No one cares!’

Rachel scowled. ‘You don’t care about Kurt? You don’t care about our friend that’s just been _shot?’_

The latino sat up then, frowning. ‘Of course I care about Kurt. That doesn’t mean I care about what you have to say.’

‘But I’m trying to _help_ Kurt! I’m trying to organise help for him!’

‘By what? Talking about how bad it is? That does nothing.’ She collapsed back against the cement. ‘What we _need_ is a plan. Something to actually do, like find a hospital or something. I don’t know how we’d take him in without getting caught, but I’m sure Blaine would be willing to sacrifice himself for the-’

‘Sacrifice _himself?’_ Rachel sounded horrified. ‘That’s ridiculous! Why should Blaine have to sacrifice himself?’

‘Because he loves the kid? Why else?’

She bit her lip, pressing her hands into her hips. ‘Well, maybe there’s another way.’

From the other side of the small room, Quinn and Tina raised their heads, watching without speaking. 

‘Another way?’ Santana returned.

‘Yeah.’ Rachel bit her lip again, rolling it around beneath her teeth for a moment. ‘Why can’t we take him to my mom’s?’

‘Your mom’s? That very same mother who you’ve never met?’

The reply was said through gritted teeth. ‘The very same.’

‘And you think she’d be willing to take him? To risk being in the same position as us, on the run from the Regime?’

‘Well, she agreed to have her name on my ID card, didn’t she? For all means and purposes, she _is_ my mother. And that must mean something, right?’

‘It means that she’s just as crazy as you. I can definitely see where you get that trait from.’ Santana rolled her eyes and shifted her hands to behind her head, cradling it above spread fingers.

There was a pause that filled the room, broken only by an almost silent crack as Tina broke the nail on her middle finger in half, throwing the piece of nail towards the back of the room.

‘No, Santana,’ Rachel said finally. ‘It means she’s happy to go against the Regime. It means she’s not a fan. And maybe she’ll take Kurt in. She might know someone - a doctor or somebody - that can help him.’

Santana raised an eyebrow but didn’t argue. It was Quinn that spoke up next. ‘And how do you propose we find this mother of yours?’

‘We have her address. It’s on my ID card.’ She drew the card itself from her pocket, where she had been keeping it safe at all times. ‘Apartment 9, 64 Columbia Heights, Brooklyn.’

‘New York?’

‘Yeah.’

‘You expect us to drive to New York?’ 

Rachel shrugged. ‘I guess so. If we want to help Kurt.’

Santana groaned and pushed her head further into the cement. ‘This really is a death trap.’

* * *

 

The wheels of the train rattled along the track, whirring and thunking as it passed each wooden sleeper. It was slowing, squeaking slightly as the breaks engaged, and Finn opened the door to his compartment, sparing only half a glance to the woman still knitting opposite where he had sat. Her fingers moved in precise but slightly clumsy movements, and her eyes wandered the stains of the wall above where Finn’s head had been. 

‘Uh- this is my stop,’ he said unnecessarily.

‘Yes, dear.’

‘I’m getting off now.’

‘Alright, dear.’

‘Is this your stop?’

The woman glanced at him then and shook her head, a faint grin lingering on her lips. ‘No, thank you, dear.’

Finn frowned, but stepped out into the corridor, breathing in the slightly less musty air. There were a few other passengers exiting compartments further down the corridor, and he made his way towards them and the door. He could feel the movement of the train beneath his feet, the connection of the brakes as they slowed. Out the wide glass windows, he could see the city of New York. It was different to anything he’d ever experienced, but despite that fact, all he could think about was Rachel, and her mom and how he would find her. He had an address, but that was nowhere near enough in a big city like New York. He’d have to make sure he had the right place before he arrived, otherwise any number of things could go wrong. And he’d have to find a way to locate the street anyway.

He glanced at the small slip of paper that had been sitting in his pocket since Burt had given it to him. 

_Apartment 9, 64 Columbia Heights, Brooklyn._

‘Does anyone know the way to-’ he began, but a sleek car was already pulling up in front of him, yellow with a taxi symbol painted on its roof. ‘Oh.’ 

The driver rolled down the window, motioning with a hand for him to get inside and he opened the door cautiously. ‘Are you-’ he began to ask, but the man just motioned again, this time towards the back seat. 

‘Put your bag there and give me the directions,’ he said. Finn handed over the address wordlessly and climbed into the seat.

‘Thanks.’ 

The man was graying, with a receding hairline, and when he talked, his accent was a little broad and Finn suspected he may have grown up in a 4th Level. It seemed the kind of job a 4th Level would get in New York City.

‘Do you know how to get there?’ he asked as he sat down, closing the car door. ‘Is it close?’ 

The driver shook his head and pulled out onto the road. His driving was clean and swift, as if he had been doing this all his life, which he probably nearly had. ‘The other side of the city,’ he said gruffly. ‘But it won’t take long.’ He nodded towards a scanner, placed in the middle of the car above the gearshift. ‘Scan your card, please.’

Finn did as instructed, watching as a small screen on the machine brought up his name and picture. He had been younger when that was taken, earlier in the year. He’d seemed younger at any rate. There hadn’t been the weight of staying behind on his shoulders, of worrying constantly about Rachel, and about Kurt. He didn’t have the guilt gnawing at his stomach, and he didn’t have Burt’s voice in his ear, telling him he should be doing something, anything, to protect the people he loved.

But he was in New York now. And he was on his way to see Rachel’s mother. 

He was on his way to do _something._

* * *

 

The car seems too small and too crowded when they eventually try to fit back into it. Kurt is in the back, sitting with his back against the spare tire to avoid being car sick, but his hands press into the floor when they finally get moving and begin to turn corners. He is the only one without a seatbelt, other than Blaine.

Blaine is in the back too, opposite him. He reached out a hand, but the gap between them was too far, and Kurt was definitely not flexible enough in his current position to capture his fingers. Blaine tried to scoot closer, but there was still a limit to the amount of space back there, and he ended up sitting on Kurt’s feet, so he only squeezed his hand quickly and moved backwards again.

Santana was driving again, Tina in the front. Rachel had taken Kurt and Blaine’s seat, and if her quiet hum was anything to go buy, she enjoyed the room it gave her, instead of being squashed on Tina’s lap. Beth was still curled on Quinn’s knee, but the car itself seems roomier. Everyone at least has a spot to themselves.

‘So,’ Tina said finally glancing in the rearview mirror to catch Rachel’s eye. ‘You’ve never met your mom before?’

‘Right.’ 

‘Wish I had that luck,’ she replied, half to herself.

‘No, you don’t. It’s horrible. I know she’s there, but my dads always said never to find her unless it was an emergency, that she didn’t need the pain of me. The pain of me!’ She said it as if she was horrified. ‘Me! The perfect angel!’

‘Yeah, such a perfect angel,’ Santana comments darkly. 

But Rachel continued as if she had said nothing. ‘So when all this happened, when I was wondering what to do about Kurt, I thought of her.’

‘Yeah, we were there. We remember.’ From the tone of Santana’s voice, it was clear she would like nothing better than for Rachel to shut up, but as often happened with Rachel, the girl was oblivious. Instead, Santana glanced angrily in the mirror, scanning the road behind her. It was empty, and a small part of her felt relief.

‘Why would you wish not to know your parents?’ a voice asked, and Santana is almost shocked to note that it was Quinn, leaning forward in her seat. Beth was asleep on her lap, and she brushed her hand through the girl’s hair absently.

Tina shrugged. ‘They’re uptight. I’m a 3rd Level and so is my mom, but my dad recently got upgraded. He did something good for the Leader apparently.’

‘The leader?’ Quinn raised an eyebrow.

‘Yeah, the guy that runs the Regime. I don’t know what dad did, but he came home a few weeks before this all started, ecstatic.’ She pursed her lips. ‘I was happy for him then, but now, now that I’m with you guys, I’m not so sure.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, how great can the Regime be if they want to find and kill Beth.’

Beth. No one quite understood the connection that had formed between the little girl and Tina, and it was hardly present at all times, but it had been obvious at the beginning, when the asian had first joined them. Quinn’s daughter was the reason she agreed not to tell. And then she brought it up again, the little girl. 

‘Hm,’ Quinn hummed in agreement. It was non-commital, but she didn’t know what else to say. Tina didn’t seem to mind, and leaned her head back against the headrest, running a thumb over her forehead and pressing out the worry lines.

They were in a car, headed to New York.

Santana checked in the rearview mirror again. The road behind them was clear. A glance out the window showed empty skies. 

They were on the road to New York, and there was no one behind them.

They may not be have been perfect; Tina may have more of a backstory with the Regime than she had ever let on, Rachel couldn’t stop talking about her mother, Quinn seemed deep in thought about Beth and most of all, Kurt was still shot.

But for now, at least, they seemed safe.


	20. Chapter Nineteen

**Chapter Nineteen**

_‘The questioning spirit is the rebellious spirit. A rebellion is always either a cloak to hide a prince, or the swaddling wrapper of a new rule.’  
_ _-Honore de Balzac, about Catherine de Medici_

The taxi pulled up swiftly to a squat building that seemed to spread wide and far without ever rising more than two stories. The letterbox out the front showed ten apartments, and Finn wondered how small they must have been to fit ten of them inside the building.

‘Thanks,’ he said to the driver, who sent him a curt nod as he pulled his bag from the back seat.

He was there. Not just in New York, but at Rachel’s mom’s place. He’s there, and he just had to walk up those steps and press the buzzer.

He made his way slowly up the concrete, his bag hoisted onto his broad shoulder. It won’t be hard, he told himself. He reached out a hand and pressed the buzzer.

The wait seemed like a lifetime as he stood, moving from one foot to the other. Clouds moved across the sky, half obscuring the sun that sat low on the horizon and shadowing Finn in shades of red and gold.

And then the door was being opened. 

‘Hi,’ Rachel’s mom said, pressing a hand into her hip. ‘And who are you?’

Finn bit his lip, rolling it between his teeth and shrugging his shoulders lightly. ‘Uh, my name’s Finn. Are you Shelby?’

The woman nodded, but it was almost reluctant. ‘Yeah.’

‘Um-’ Finn said again. Normally, he could at least claim the ability to string more than two words together, but then, he seemed horrible at even forming the words. ‘I’m- uh- Rachel’s boyfriend. Rachel, your daughter.’

Shelby looked at him, properly looking. Her eyes roved his body, from the way his feet turned in, to the stoop in his broad shoulders and the way the bag hung over them weighed him down slightly.

‘You’re from Ohio?’ she asked.

‘Yeah.’

‘And you came all this way? That’s a long way for a high school kid.’ 

He wasn’t sure how she knew he was in high school, but there must have been some obvious sign about him. 

‘I thought maybe Rachel and her friends were here?’ he said hopefully, the end of the sentence raising in a question.

‘Why would they be? I’ve never met my daughter.’

Shelby’s lips were pursed in an angry, and Finn began to think that maybe it wasn’t the best idea to come here.

‘Her- her dad said that she would probably come here if she could. To be safe.’

‘Why wouldn’t she be safe?’

And there it was, the question that even though Finn didn’t know it, he’d been rather afraid of. How could he tell Rachel’s mom that she was on the run, a fugitive, with five other kids from their school.

‘Uh- she might be- uh- on the run. From the Regime.’

Shelby let out a heavy breath, glancing around her. There was hardly anyone on the street and it was getting late, almost to curfew. She grabbed Finn by his elbow and pulled him into the building.

The front corridor from which all the other apartments seemed to branch off was thin but well decorated, with wainscoting along the length of the wall and the upper section painted a dark blue. It seemed old, and vintage, and the kind of style that was enjoyable before the days of the Regime.

Shelby led him up the flight of stairs and into her apartment, number 9. As he placed his bag next to the island, she locked the door. 

‘For safety,’ she replied to his raised eyebrow.

‘Is it-?’ he began to ask, but she cut him off.

‘It’s worse here in the city than in Ohio. You’re a country kid. You wouldn’t understand.’

She ran a hand through her hair and sat down at the kitchen table. Finn hesitantly moved towards the other end and sat down opposite her.

‘You say Rachel’s on the run?’

Finn nodded in agreement. ‘Her and a few friends decided they didn’t like the way things were being run. They thought they could do something. But a whole lot of Officers came into school one day and took them. Well, they tried to take them.’

‘And you say you’re Rachel’s boyfriend?’

Finn bit his lip but nodded again. 

‘Why didn’t you go after them?’

And that was the crux of it. That was why he was there, wasn’t it? To go after them and to help them.

‘I- I didn’t know if it was the right thing to do,’ he said finally.

‘But you’re here now. Looking for Rachel.’ It wasn’t a question, but he answered it anyway.

‘Yeah.’

Shelby frowned and stood up again, moving towards the cabinet above the stove and pulling from it two heavy mugs. Methodically, she spooned in instant coffee and sugar, pressing down the button on the kettle as she worked.

‘You do like coffee, don’t you?’ she asked over her shoulder, but didn’t wait for an answer as she worked. 

It took a minute, but then she was vigorously stirring the mixture in the mugs and turning to hand one to Finn. She eyed him carefully as he took a sip and then sat back down again. Her hands wrapped snugly around the mug, holding it close to her as she sipped.

There was a pause as she thought, and then she was speaking. ‘Do you love her?’

Finn almost choked on his coffee. ‘What?’

‘Rachel. Do you love her?’

His eyebrows furrowed in confusion. ‘Of course I do. I’d do anything for her.’

Shelby frowned. ‘So you came to New York?’

‘What else could I do?! She was on the run! She _is_ on the run!’ Finn could hear his voice getting louder, but it seemed out of his control to stop it. ‘I did the best thing I could do!’

‘You should have gone after her in the first place!’

And it was exactly what Burt had said in the car and in their house. Exactly what he had been telling him, and Finn knew that he should have. But the past was the past and there was nothing he could do. He was here now. He was _trying_ for God’s sakes.

He slammed his hand down against the table, wincing as the noise echoed around the rather small room. ‘Why is it not enough for everyone that I’m doing the best I can?’ he yelled. ‘I’m _here,_ I’m trying!’

Shelby reached out a hand, capturing the one of his that was flying through the air. ‘Calm down, Finn,’ she said evenly. ‘I didn’t mean to upset you.’

‘Oh, yeah right.’ But he sat down in the chair again, leaning his head on his hands as his elbows made right angles with the table.

The woman rubbed a soothing pattern into his wrist. ‘It’s okay. You did the best you can, Finn. I’m sure she’ll appreciate it.’

He looked up at her then. ‘But if she’s not here, how will I ever tell her? How will I ever tell her how much I love her?’

* * *

 

‘Hurry up!’ Blaine hissed from the back of the car. ‘What’s taking so long?’

In the front seat, Rachel leaned her head out the window, searching the street names above her head for one she recognized. 

‘Columbia Heights,’ she murmured to herself. ‘Columbia Heights, Columbia Heights.’

Santana’s voice was bordering on anxious when she spoke. ‘I think it’s nearly curfew. Rachel, hurry up.’

‘It must be here somewhere!’ But that was a stupid thing to say, because they weren’t in small town Ohio, where if you walked five minutes in any direction, you’d probably find all the streets. They were in New York City, that spread out like a maze for an hour in every direction. They would never find her house by just staring at the street signs.

In the very back, Kurt winced as the car stopped roughly at a set of traffic lights. 

‘ _Hurry up!’_

Blaine forewent his own comfort and scooted forward, twisting his feet underneath him so he could reach Kurt’s hand and squeeze it. ‘Are you okay?’ he whispered. ‘We’ll be there soon. I promise.’

Kurt grit his teeth. ‘I’m fine, Blaine.’

‘No, you’re not. You’re in pain.’

‘No more or less than I was before. I’m not made of glass.’

Blaine frowned, but squeezed his hand tighter. In his mind, it was to provide comfort for Kurt, but for Kurt, it was obvious he was trying to gain some of his own.

‘Are _you_ okay?’ he asked, but Blaine didn’t reply. He only looked out the window that formed most of the door of the trunk and watched as the city passed by, low and sprawling around them.

The older boy leaned his head back against the edge of the car and pulled Blaine’s hand closer, pressing a small kiss to it. Normally it would be enough to gain a reaction from him, but he continued to stare out the window. A nerve was jumping in his jaw, and Kurt had the distinct impression it was taking him a lot of effort to keep staring. Perhaps he was trying not to cry.

He pressed the hand to his lips again before holding it tight to his lap.

‘We’re here!’ Rachel said suddenly, and all eyes - including Blaine’s - moved to watch her. She was pointing frantically up at the road sign. ‘Columbia Heights! Now we just have to find the number!’ She motioned for Santana to keep driving as she stared out the window.

‘No,’ Noah said quickly from the backseat. ‘Leave the car here. We don’t want to raise suspicion.’

It was a smart comment, and Santana nodded, pulling up to the pavement. She killed the ignition and jumped out quickly, but Rachel was already on the sidewalk and running down it, searching for the house number.

‘Blaine?’ Kurt asked as the boy opened the trunk and held out his arms. ‘Do you really want to carry me all that way?’

He meant his tone to be slightly patronizing, enough that he would change his mind and instead only act as a crutch for Kurt to lean on when he needed. But he only nodded and scooped Kurt into his arms without preamble.

Kurt sighed. It was completely unnecessary, but Blaine was being stubborn, and there was nothing he could do. He let him carry him.

And so they walked down the sidewalk, Quinn and Noah side by side with Beth on Noah’s hip, Santana and Rachel in the lead, and then Blaine, with Kurt in his arms. Tina brought up the rear.

The walk was a small one, but even for how they went, Blaine could feel his arms beginning to give way. But he couldn’t drop Kurt. Kurt needed him, and he was going to do everything he could. 

For Kurt’s part, he twined his arms tightly around Blaine’s neck, curling his head into his shoulder and pressing light kisses to the bare stretch of his neck that was in reach. It was a silly thing to do really, pointless, but it made him feel as if he was showing Blaine how much he appreciated his actions, even if they were totally unnecessary.

And then they were there, and Rachel was squealing with delight, and Santana was telling her to shut up, even though the street was absolutely deserted. 

She darted up the short flight of steps and pressed the buzzer, bouncing from foot to foot in excitement. They were there, they had found her. Kurt would get the care he needed, and they’d have some place to stay in safety for a little while. It was all perfect.

And then the door opened.

‘Finn?’


	21. Chapter Twenty

**Chapter Twenty**

_‘Love, hope, fear, faith - these make humanity;  
_ _Those are its signs and note and character.’  
_ _-Robert Browning, ‘Paracelsus’_

Inside the small apartment, nine adults - or near enough to adults as they could possibly be - and a small child, did not fit comfortably. There was a spare room, and then Shelby’s bedroom, and the couch, but still, they didn’t all fit. 

Even crowding through the doorway seemed like an effort, but Finn was quick to pull them inside, face blanching as he saw Kurt, bundled in Blaine’s arms, the material of Noah’s shirt already stained with blood around his shoulder.

‘Kurt,’ he whispered. ‘Are you okay?’

Kurt nodded, but Blaine pushed past Finn, into the house and placed him on the couch without waiting for permission. 

‘Blaine, I’m fine,’ he tried to say. He used his free arm to push himself up, into a sitting position, but Blaine was already hovering over him with worried eyes, holding his hand again and making things difficult. ‘Blaine!’

He dropped his hand like it was on fire. ‘Sorry.’

‘What happened?’ Finn asked, directing it to the room in the general, but his eyes moved between Kurt, his brother, whom he should have protected, and Rachel, who seemed lost and angry at him.

‘Kurt got shot,’ Blaine said. 

‘I can see that. But what _happened?’_

Everyone remained silent, unsure how to answer. It was Shelby who broke it, bringing from the bathroom betadine ointment and a small pile of fresh cloth. ‘Let’s change this wound,’ she said.

Reluctantly, Blaine stepped away from the couch, dropping Kurt’s hand and watching with wide eyes as she worked, removing Noah’s shirt and handing it to Blaine with instructions to place it in a plastic bag by the kitchen sink.

She moved methodically, cleaning the wound carefully with the ointment and wrapping it tight. When she was done, she rocked back on her heels and smiled at Kurt. ‘Not too painful, I hope?’ she said.

‘It’s clean, and that’s what matters, right?’ he said with a grimace.

‘Well, it’s not a proper doctors job, and we’ll need to call someone, but it’s something.’ She moved away from the catch, and Blaine stepped forward to take his place again.

‘What happened to you guys?’ Shelby asked.

It was a simple enough question, and coming from her, an answer seemed to be appropriate.

‘We were hiding inside a tunnel,’ Kurt said, sitting up. ‘It was a good idea, because they couldn’t attack us from the air in there. But then they sent in cars, and Officers. We had Noah and Quinn and Beth,’ he motioned with his hand, ‘in a maintenance shaft, for protection, but the Officers started searching them. So Blaine and I went to try and warn them.’

There was a slight pause in his story where he glanced at Blaine, but the younger boy was staring resolutely at the ground.

‘And then there were Officers on all sides of them, and we attacked them, and we thought we were okay. They were all on the ground, not dead, but out of it, and the last one was young, so we’d persuaded him to go back to his bosses and tell them we were dead.’ He bit his lip. ‘And then one of the first ones, that I’d knocked against a wall, stood up, and he was aiming for Blaine.’ His voice shook slightly, and without looking at him, Blaine’s hand snaked into his. ‘So I tried to stop him, and Blaine shot at him, but he’d already got a shot out, and it hit me.’

Everyone in the room was watching him with wide eyes, waking for a breakdown. But none came. He only steeled his shoulders slightly, squeezed Blaine’s hand, and let out a wane smile. ‘But it’s okay. I survived.’

Shelby looked at him appreciatively. ‘You were lucky. I’m amazed that all of you took on what you did.’ She smiled at them all, her eyes lingering for a moment on Rachel, who turned her head away from her gaze. ‘You’re all idiots, but you’ve done some good things with it.’ She let out a short sharp laugh. ‘I’m going to call someone I know who can do a proper job for Kurt. Stick tight.’ 

And she moved away from the small circle that had somehow formed around the sofa to make the call in her bedroom.

‘What did you _do?’_ Finn asked immediately, turning to Rachel. ‘I thought this was just going to be some little homegrown thing and now people are getting _shot!’_

‘Well, what did you do about it, Finn?’ she replied, anger growing in her voice as if a switch had been flicked, and Shelby’s departure had been the catalyst. ‘I didn’t see you helping us out with your big muscles and manliness.’

Finn scowled. ‘How was I supposed to ever find you! You were completely off the grid! We were expecting something on the news or anything, and then Burt suggested coming here. He thought you might have come here for safety, after he talked to your dads.’

‘You came here to find us?’ her voice softened slightly.

‘I thought it was the best idea. I didn’t know how else to do it. It was just luck that you actually came here really.’

Rachel nodded, almost to herself. ‘It is,’ she whispered.

He took a step towards her, and even though they were in the middle of Shelby’s living room, with people all around them, he took her hand gently and pulled her towards him and into a hug. ‘I love you, Rachel,’ he whispered in return.

‘Oh, sweet.’ Santana’s voice cut across them as she flopped down in the armchair that rested across from the sofa. ‘Just so _touching._ Never mind the fact that I’m without _my_ significant other, Kurt has a gaping wound in his shoulder, and world’s best parents over here have a kid that endangers us all whenever we’re doing _anything.’_

‘She’s not a-’ Quinn began, but cut herself off. ‘I don’t want to leave her here.’

‘Where else?’ Santana asked, raising her hands and shrugging. ‘Here’s better than anywhere. At least you know Rachel’s mom will look after her. She seems nice enough, and she’s not with the Regime.’

‘But- she’s my-’

‘Yeah, and she’s a hassle. Pick her up later or something. Just don’t bring her with us when we leave.’

It was almost an order, and Quinn shot Santana a look as she moved Beth on her hip. The little girl was falling asleep, and rested her head in the crook of her mother’s neck.

‘Maybe it would be a good idea.’ It was Noah speaking, and he moved closer, resting an arm around Quinn’s waist. She didn’t move it away from her. 

‘Why?’ she whispered.

‘I mean, we can’t protect her forever if we’re in the middle of danger. Wouldn’t it be better for her to be somewhere out of it all?’ 

She bit her lip, frustrated. ‘No, it wouldn’t. I’m her mother and-’

‘You know it would. You just don’t want to leave her behind.’

‘I-’

‘You know it’s true.’ He squeezed her lightly, lifting up a hand to brush back a loose strand of Beth’s hair. ‘Leave her here with Shelby and we can come and pick her up when we’ve finished. When this is all over.’

‘But what if it’s never over?’ 

And that was kind of the problem, but Noah just shrugged. ‘We’ll come to that if it happens.’

Quinn nodded softly, and Noah smiled. 

‘Guys,’ Shelby’s voice rang out as she entered the room again, and Quinn removed herself quickly from Noah’s grip. ‘The doctor will be here in the morning. What does everyone want for dinner?’

* * *

 

In the control tower, chaos reigned. 

‘You say they’re _dead?’_

‘Yes. That’s what the Officer said.’

‘But didn’t we see a car-’

‘Yes, but we couldn’t prove it was them. We’ve tracked the car to New York, but we lost them once they got inside the bustle of the city. And the Officer insists they died inside the maintenance shaft. All of the men from his unit can’t remember a thing, except they arrived back outside the tunnel, and he told them there were no survivors.’

Another voice, louder than the others, joined the melee. ‘That sounds like complete bullshit to me.’

‘I agree, sir.’

‘Why aren’t we doing everything within our power to find them and remove them from this situation. Hostilities are not tolerated by the Regime.’ He was a high up official, portly, and when he clasped his hands behind his back, his large stomach bulged outwards, around the constraint of his belt. 

‘We’re trying, sir. We’re not sure where to look next.’

‘Wasn’t someone saying just this morning that one of the girls had a mother living in New York? Isn’t she a suitable place to start?’

Heads turned in his direction, as if coming across an epiphany. It was common knowledge within this part of the control tower that this man was not prone to moments of genius.

‘We’ll get on that, sir,’ someone managed to speak finally.

‘I suggest you raid her house,’ he said. ‘See what you find there. I’m sure you’ll pull up something.’

‘Shall we begin tonight?’

The man shook his head. ‘No, give them till tomorrow morning. Make sure they’re definitely there. And then go in hard.’

All heads in the room nodded.

It was a plan.

* * *

 

The next morning dawned early. The teenagers that lay sprawled across the living room sofas and floor had fallen asleep quickly, welcoming it like an old friend. It seemed like they hadn’t slept in days.

But all too soon, it was time to wake up, and Shelby was walking between them, pressing a hand to Finn’s shoulder, and Noah’s, and shaking Blaine gently. Beth was curled between Quinn and Noah, and she was already awake, lifting her feet above her head and playing with them. Shelby smiled down at her before moving back to the kitchen.

On the stove, bacon was cooking. She’d dredged all she could from the freezer, laying it out on the island to defrost and then moving it bit by bit into the small fry pan, and then to the oven, just hot enough to keep the rashers warm. 

‘Mm, smells good,’ Finn said. He was the first to be standing, and he seemed to have arrived at the smell of the food, pressing his nose close to the fry pan. ‘Is there eggs?’

‘There will be if you give me time. It’s a lot of working cooking for a lot of people on a small stove.’

He nodded, smiling, and sat down at the table, rubbing sleep out of his eyes. Slowly, the others joined them, first Noah, who sat down roughly next to Finn, and then Santana and Tina. Shelby passed out plates and then dished out the bacon, pushing it onto the dishes before cracking eggs into the fry pan. They become a jumbled mess, unable to be turned, and instead she poured cream into the pan and mixed them round to make something resembling scrambled eggs.

Quinn made her way to the table, Beth on her hip. ‘Is there something I can feed her?’ she asked, rocking the little girl on her hip. ‘Any bread or something?’ 

Shelby nodded and motioned towards the pantry, which stood half open. The loaf of bread was right near the front, and Quinn reached to pull out a slice, handing it quickly to Beth. The little girl shoved it into her mouth in one piece, pushing the edges in until her cheeks bulged and she grinned.

‘You’re a pig,’ Quinn laughed. ‘A little greedy pig.’

Blaine and Kurt were the last ones to get breakfast. Blaine stood up, releasing the hand of Kurt’s that he had held all through the night. ‘What do you want?’ he asked. ‘I’ll get you something.’

‘I’m fine,’ Kurt said. He pushed his feet off the edge of the sofa and stood up, not wincing. ‘It’s only my shoulder. I’m not an invalid.’ 

But Blaine was frowning and watching him with worried eyes. As he moved across the room towards the kitchen table, Blaine followed close behind, as if worried he might keel over at any moment.

It was unnecessary, Kurt only wincing when he received the plate from Shelby with his bad arm. 

‘The doctor will be here in ten minutes or so,’ Shelby said with a smile as she handed another plate to Blaine. ‘I told him it was a gunshot, so he’ll be prepared. It might need stitches, and probably a better wrapping than what any of us could do. There won’t be anaesthetic. Are you going to be alright?’

Kurt nodded. ‘I have a high pain tolerance.’

But Blaine looked anxious. The older boy pressed a hand to his upper arm. 

‘I’ll be fine.’

He frowned, but said nothing, and only began to eat his breakfast in silence.

Outside the window, the sun was bursting over the horizon, lighting the flat landscape of New York City. It seemed like a brand new day, a brand new beginning, and anyone outside that small apartment may have thought so. But the teenagers sitting inside it only felt as if it was another day of hell, and torture and not knowing what would happen next. The only positive to the moment was that it was a brief respite, their stay at Shelby’s. They could pretend, by eating a properly cooked breakfast, that they were not on the run, hiding from the Regime.

The buzzer rang out across the apartment, and Shelby moved quickly across the room to open the door and run down the stairs to open the main door outside. Moments later and she was back, a young man with an already receding hairline behind her. 

‘Hi, my name’s Andrew,’ he said, his voice bright and smiling. His eyes scanned the room, searching for his casualty as he placed his briefcase on the couch, and then he spotted Kurt. ‘Ah, you must be the patient!’ He was a charismatic man with a warm smile, but it didn’t seem to fit the situation. He was too happy, especially for someone who Shelby claimed was a friend and against the Regime. It made his smile seem automatic, a show that he put on for the people he met, the patients he saw.

‘That would be me,’ Kurt deadpanned and shifted closer to him, sitting himself down on the couch. ‘Stitch me up.’

The doctor - Andrew - smiled at him, that almost fake smile, and motioned to the bandage Shelby had wrapped tightly around his arm. 

‘The woman did a good job, eh?’ he said with a short sharp laugh.

‘I guess so.’

He pulled back the material, unwinding it from Kurt’s arm and examined the bullet wound carefully, pulling out a swab of something from his briefcase and dabbing it onto the dried blood. Kurt winced, but didn’t say anything, and hardly even changed his level of breathing. 

‘You got yourself badly hit here, didn’t you?’

‘Yeah.’

‘It’ll need stitches.’

‘I thought it would.’

The doctor pulled the needle and thread from his bag. ‘Sorry about this. I can’t take anesthetics from the hospital without them raising questions, so we’re going to have to do this old school.’

Kurt nodded forcefully.

‘It’ll sting, but I’ll do my best to only hit scar tissue if I can. Do one of the girls want to hold your hand or something?’

Andrew’s gaze roved across the room, falling on Rachel, but the small girl only shook her head and pushed Blaine closer to the couch, to move beside Kurt and take his hand.

‘Sorry,’ Blaine whispered as he sat down beside him. ‘I’m sorry.’ 

But Kurt only nodded, gritting his teeth together as Andrew the doctor moved closer with his needle and thread, that looked like nothing more than cotton from a sewing kit.

He closed his eyes tight.

* * *

 

On the other side of the room, as Andrew the doctor worked, Shelby was in hushed conversation with Quinn, Noah, Finn, Santana, Tina and Rachel.

‘We can’t stay,’ Rachel said softly. ‘We can’t do this to you. We can’t bring our worries onto your household.’

‘Household?’ Shelby responded with a sharp laugh. ‘This isn’t a household. This is a lonely woman wondering what she did with her life. You’re welcome to stay. It will make it more interesting.’

‘No,’ Santana agreed with Rachel, a rarity. ‘We told ourselves we have to be proactive. We can’t sit back and keep running, that will get us nowhere. We have to actually _do_ something. All we need is a plan.’

Tina nodded. ‘When we were coming into the city, I saw the Control Tower. It was obvious, of course-’

‘Of course,’ Shelby nodded.

‘I think that should be our aim.’

Another appreciative nod. ‘Then you need somewhere to use as a base. This place is too small, especially for so many teenagers.’ She glanced towards Finn, whose head almost brushed the ceiling. ‘There’s an old hotel on the opposite edge of the city from here. An old friend owns it, and he’d be willing to put you up in rooms if you tell him I sent you.’

Rachel nodded thankfully. 

‘We’d like to leave soon, once Kurt’s done, before the traffic starts up. We’re flagged, if you didn’t realise.’

Shelby smiled. ‘I realised.’

She hugged her daughter, but it was an awkward one, one that should have said a lot, but just said “thank you for being someone who we could trust” and not “thank you for being my mother”. 

Tina and Santana moved towards the door, and Rachel slipped her hand into Finn’s. Together, they followed close behind. Only Quinn and Noah remained.

‘Uh-’ Quinn asked, moving Beth from one hip to the other. ‘I was just- I was wondering if it’s possible for you to, uh-’

Shelby sent her an encouraging smile.

‘Could you please look after my daughter for me?’

The woman blinked, almost in shock, but then she was smiling again, her default position, but it was human, much more believable than Andrew the doctors. ‘Of course I will, Quinn.’

‘Thank you.’


	22. Chapter Twenty-One

**Chapter Twenty-One**

_‘And there was mounting in hot haste: the steed,  
_ _The mustering squadron, and the clattering car,  
_ _Went pouring forward with impetuous speed,  
_ _And swiftly forming in the ranks of war;  
_ _And the deep thunder peal on peal, afar  
_ _And near; the beat of the alarming drum  
_ _Roused up the soldier ere the morning star;  
_ _While throng’d the citizens with terror dumb,  
_ _Or whispering with white lips - “The foe! They come! They come!”’  
_ _-Lord Byron, ‘Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage’_

‘Go! Go! Go!’ The call rang out through the management room of the control tower. It had spread through the throat microphone of a woman in the front row, who on a screen in front of her, moved a red dot towards a green square. This was how attacks worked in the Regime. Complete and utter precision and control.

But inside the building, where the Officers performing the attack were crowding, chaos reigned. It was a chaos stemming from the inability of ten men thrown together at the last moment to form a unit. They walked in line as they had been trained to, and followed their orders to the letter, but they were not men who would die for each other. They were men who would pray their neighbour took the shot.

Their guns were strapped across their shoulders, swinging in front of them as they climbed the stairs to the apartment. The first one to reach the door kicked out with his boot, hitting the wood in just the right place for the lock to break and the door to swing on its hinges with a heavy bang.

‘No one is to survive,’ was the order, whispered into the earpieces that each man held. And so they raised their guns hire, released the safety catches, and began to shoot.

But Apartment 9, 64 Columbia Heights, Brooklyn was empty.

* * *

 

The hotel that Shelby had suggested was small, dank and dusty. It’s windows were boarded over with thick planks of wood, which made the corridors smell of must and lack of sunlight. In the small places where a ray filtered through, the dust motes were visible in the air.

The group of teenagers climbed the stairs, Kurt and Blaine leaning into each other. Finn brought up the rear, and Rachel the front. The girl had rushed ahead, ensuring she was well away from him when they began the walk. And although Finn had stared after her wistfully and tried to shoulder the others aside to reach her again, no one was willing to give up their place. All of them were too anxious to enter the safety of their hotel room and move out of the line of sight of the residents in the main dining room who slumped over their tables holding large glasses of beer that seemed to constantly remain half empty.

The room they had been given was little better than the rest of the hotel. It’s window, which had once served the purpose of letting in light, was now only there to show a distinction between the walls facing inside and the walls facing outside. 

There were two large double beds, with blankets that looked old and moth eaten. A fold out couch sat at the other end of the room, near the door to the bathroom, which held a shower, a toilet and a sink. With one sweep, it was clear that they would be hard pressed to fit in it. Thinking of the hotel owner, they also thought it would be hard pressed to persuade him to give them another room, especially when they had no money to pay for this one, and he knew it.

‘We shotgun the bed,’ Noah said quickly, raising one hand in the air and wrapping the other around Quinn’s waist to hold her closer to him, making it blatantly obvious who constituted “we” in his sentence.

Finn went to make a similar announcement, but Rachel was staring daggers at him, and with a tilt of her head motioned toward Kurt and Blaine. Kurt’s shoulder was still wrapped tightly, and he was holding his arm delicately as he leaned into Blaine.

‘Kurt and Blaine can have the other one,’ Finn said, getting the hint. 

‘Tina and I’ll have the sofa,’ Santana said quickly, sitting down on it. The other girl grinned at her, joining her on the ugly tartan covered cushion. 

‘So that leaves you and me, Rachel,’ Finn said, wringing his hands together. ‘I’m sure there’s spare blankets or some-’

‘You can have that piece of floor over there, and I will have this section over here.’ She motioned with her hands, outlining the area she was claiming as hers. No one in that room could truthfully say they didn’t notice the very obvious emphasis she placed on the position of both beds between her area and Finn’s.

Slowly a circle was made. It occurred primarily through the movement of people to comfortable positions, but slowly it became obvious that it was a meeting circle, and that something needed to be said. From beside Kurt and with his arm wrapped comfortingly around his shoulders, Blaine was the first to speak.

‘So, it’s obvious what building is the control tower, isn’t it?’

Rachel nodded. ‘Of course. That giant one right in the middle of the city. It towers over everything.’

‘They don’t call it a control tower for nothing,’ Kurt’s said scathingly.

Blaine smiled before continuing. ‘But so do we all agree that that will be the place to start?’

Voices rose in unison, all trying to speak at the same time.

‘Storm the place!’

‘Bring it down with explosives!’

‘Go in with a goblin army and a platoon of trolls to back us up!’ Kurt rolled his eyes at the horrified looks on the others faces. ‘It’s called _sarcasm.’_

It didn’t help his arguments that Finn and Noah, who had made the first comments, were completely serious.

‘Guys, it’s pointless to storm the thing. We’re a group of teenagers. There’s eight of us. There’s very little storming capabalities from our little group, especially with me not running at full capacity and Finn still new to the group.’

There was a murmur of agreement. 

‘What we need is a proper plan. Not a rush in and do what sounds best at the time plan, but a well thought out plan.’

Another murmur and then Quinn was speaking up, holding her hand in the air to direct attention towards her. ‘Well, wouldn’t the best place to start be with the leader? Whoever runs the regime?’

A nod moved like a wave around the circle.

‘He’d be in the control tower, and if we can persuade him to change his ideals that stop us living the lives we want to lead, he will influence the whole world.’ It was a sound argument and nobody could argue with it.

‘But where exactly in that _massive_ tower would he be?’ Santana asked.

‘Well, at the top, of course.’

* * *

 

The planning process took longer than any of them - and particularly the hotel owner - had expected. It took them three days to come up with a plan that all of them agreed on. Kurt was adamant that they needed more information, and more of an understand of what they were getting themselves into, but Finn and Noah were sure that the best idea was to just go in and wing it. It was Blaine and Tina that proposed the compromise: there was only so much planning they could do, and they would do it, and then they would meet the rest as they came to it.

This was a plan that everyone could agree on.

And so they observed the tower. Each day, one of them would go out into the streets and watch the movement of people in and out of it. Occaisonally there was a school group doing a tour, or a teenager who’s parent worked in one of the offices who would walk in calmly, and then perhaps return a few hours later.

Every other person to enter the building was an Officer. And they were very distinctive. They weren’t the ground Officers, the ones who drove the cars with the squealing sirens and lights and chased down renegades like themselves. They were the kind of offices that sat in dim rooms with microphones and headphones and planned things. They were the brains of the operation, the organising force. In the hierarchy of the regime, they might not have been at the top, but they were the nearest the average man could come to it.

‘Didn’t you say your dad was high up in the regime?’ Santana asked Tina during one of their walks past the control tower. Their gaze travelled up the tall building, examining it closely before moving to scanning the street again, voices level and calm so as not to raise suspicion.

‘Yeah.’

‘Has he ever been here?’

‘Once or twice.’ 

It was an avoidance answer, and Santana knew it. There was more to the story than a simply “once or twice” but she wasn’t naive. Tina didn’t want to talk, and so she didn’t push. She would be smart about this. She would get the information out of her, but it would be on the girls own terms. That way, she would be assured not to turn the girl against them.

Their return to the hotel marked the last outing they would have before their plan was cemented and they began. As soon as they passed through the door, they sat back down in the circle that never seemed to move from the room. 

‘Well, that proved nothing new,’ Santana said, leaning back on her arms as she sat down. ‘Just the same things as always. Officers go in, Officers come out. The lobby is very visible, so we can’t sneak in, and it’s normally empty except for one receptionist, and the elevators at the back end.’ She smiled grimly. ‘The ground floor is the tourist level of the control tower. If people want to meet with the leader for whatever reason, they go there, see the receptionist, who prompts them to a particular floor. These are the people that don’t seem to walk out the entrance the way they went in.

‘Something happens to them in there. They either come out looking dazed but pleased, or they don’t return at all. Clearly, the leader is a persuasive force. And if it doesn’t work, he makes sure the people who have questions of him are not seen of again.’

Blaine nodded grimly. ‘So it’s simple then,’ he said. ‘Tina will enter first, because she doesn’t have any flags against her, and she’ll try and pick up a pamphlet of the layout of the building. She’ll then return to us, and we’ll use the information to make our way to the top level.’ He paused. ‘Santana and I will go. We’re the ones most able to persuade the leader to change his mind. And if worse comes to worse, we can use force. Everyone else will try and keep the Officers from following us in any way they can.’ He shot a glance at Kurt before continuing. ‘But don’t put yourself in danger. If you’re going to get hurt, get out of the way. Don’t risk your own lives for us.’

‘Let’s vote on it,’ Rachel said, taking a deep breath, and their circle seemed suddenly familiar, like one from a long time ago, in a bunker where it seemed that they would be safe, that danger was far away from them. ‘Does everyone agree that we should all keep as safe as we can, while doing the best we can to protect each other? Do we all agree that doing this is the best thing for us?’

A collection of hands went up without hesitation. Not one person disagreed.

‘It’s decided then. We go in tomorrow.’

And the circle broke, each person moving away to their own corners of the room to sleep. It seemed as if a weight was settling onto their shoulders, making them years older than they actually were.

* * *

 

It was a simple enough operation. She would walk in through the front door, straightening her shirt as she did so to avoid camera’s picking up any guilt on her face. And then she would walk directly up to the receptionist as if she belonged there, ask for a pamphlet which she would be using for a school project, and then turn around again, heading out and back towards the car which would be parked a block away.

The first problem arose when there were no parks a block away. They had selected the spot specifically for its proximity to the control tower, and it’s lack of patronage. No one ever used this parking spot, it seemed.

But then, on the day they were to begin, it was inexplicably taken. Someone had parked in their spot, forcing them to park another block away, around the corner and directly in front of a busy restaurant where the patrons watched them with wary eyes.

The second problem came when Tina walked through the main doors. The receptionist wasn’t there.

As planned, she looked down to straighten her shirt as she walked across the room before leaning her arms against the counter. But the person she had expected to be talking to, a woman in a red blouse with a name tag that identified her as a receptionist, was nowhere to be seen. All that was in her place was a small metal bell resting on the counter and a place card that said _“gone for lunch, ring bell for assistance”._

And so she did, hesitantly pressing the metal bell with one forefinger. It rang out loudly, echoing in the large and empty lobby.

And then a woman was coming out of a back room, tying her hair up with a piece of ribbon and chewing on a final bite of a sandwich. 

‘Hi,’ she said around the food. ‘How can I help you?’

‘Uh,’ Tina said softly. ‘Hi. I was wondering if you had any pamphlets about the layout of this building? I’m studying ancient architecture at the moment at school and I thought it would be interesting to do an extension project about the differences between then and now.’

The woman shot her an odd look as she swallowed the last of her sandwich, but turned behind her to a row of pamphlets that lined the back wall, selecting one and passing it over. It was a thin book, barely a few pages thick. ‘This should have all the information you need.’ Her tone was dismissive, as if she didn’t want Tina there at all.

‘Thank you so much!’ the young girl replied, and then she was turning around, heading towards the door, moving as fast as she could without raising suspicion.

It had been a success, if you could call something filled with so many mistakes and very little reward a success.

* * *

 

There was also another flaw in their plan, but they were unaware of it. In one of the higher up rooms in the control tower, a woman turned to her left, to a man with a crest on his shirt that labelled him as a top Officer within the regime. 

‘What would you like us to do, sir?’ the woman asked, flicking her gaze between the man, the video footage on one screen, and the flag sheet open on another. ‘She is your daughter, after all.’

‘Nothing,’ the man said tersely. ‘We do nothing. We follow instructions and protocol, and we wait until they attack. They _will_ attack, and we will get them.’

And he turned from the screen, away from the calm and confident face of his daughter as she walked out of the control tower and towards the car two blocks away.


	23. Chapter Twenty-Two

**Chapter Twenty-Two**

_‘The inevitableness, the idealism, and the blessing of war, as an indispensable and stimulating law of development, must be repeatedly emphasized.’  
_ _-Friedrich von Bernhardi, ‘Germany and the next War’_  

The woman that had helped Tina had returned to her room behind the main area of the lobby when they arrived, leaving the lobby itself deserted. On the other side of the room, the elevators stood waiting, as if wondering whether they were actually going to do this, whether they were actually going to walk into the biggest building in the whole world to talk to the leader of a regime that wanted all of them imprisoned, if not dead.

But they walked with assuredity, their group of eight. 

Finn slipped his hand into Rachel’s and she took it silently, not looking at him. Blaine and Kurt curled their fingers together tightly, not wanting to let each other go. Noah wrapped an arm around Quinn’s shoulder, holding her close to his body as if he could protect her with his bulk alone.

‘This is it,’ Rachel whispered, barely loud enough that the others could her. But each, individually, replied.

‘Yeah.’

‘Doesn’t get much further than this.’

‘This better work.’

‘Anyone keen for a quick prayer circle?’

But they had begun. They had entered this battle, and they had to see it through.

* * *

 

In the higher levels, where the big rooms sprawled across the whole floor, Officers every few feet or so, the actions proceeding in the lobby were becoming a high priority.

‘Should we act, sir?’ a man asked, turning to face his superior who was standing just to the left of him. ‘Is there something we should be doing?’

‘We wait,’ the superior Officer said, glancing at the screen. ‘We wait until they breach the building. And then we send out teams to intercept them.’ He raised a hand, gaining the attention of every Officer in the room. ‘Ready the troops!’ he called out. ‘These children should not be allowed near the top levels. Contain them. Try not to harm them, but if force is necessary, you have my permission to use it.’

* * *

 

There are two lifts at the far end of the lobby. They look identical to each other, each with a button to the left indicating that they wanted to travel up. 

‘We should split up,’ Blaine suggested, eyeing the elevators. ‘We shouldn’t all crowd into one, and if they corner us, it gives the others somewhere to move and retaliate.’

Finn nodded, leading Rachel towards the elevator on the lift. Quinn and Noah followed behind him.

‘Seems like we’re with you guys,’ Santana said with a smile and moved towards Blaine and Kurt. Tina trailed hesitantly behind her. 

‘Okay,’ Blaine said. ‘We don’t know exactly how many floors there are; the pamphlets were a little sketchy. So just press the button for the highest floor and we’ll meet you there.’

And the elevators pinged, opening their doors. Rachel, Finn, Noah and Quinn stepped into the one on the left, and the others into the right.

With a shaking hand, Rachel pressed the button for Level 35. It lit up, and they began to travel, sliding smoothly on tracks that rose up into the heights of the building.

They were inside. They were doing something. They were here.

* * *

 

In the other elevator, Kurt reached out and pressed the button for Level 38. The button lit up, illuminating the small room, but then a voice was calling over the loudspeaker, clear and calm and most definitely pre-recorded, ‘Please enter your staff key.’

‘Key?’ Tina asked, turning to them. ‘We need a _key?’_

‘Well, it makes sense,’ replied Santana. Staff would only have access to the higher levels. I’m surprised there are so many levels that don’t need staff keys.’ She moved closer to the metal panel which held the buttons, eyeing it up carefully. And then her hands were reaching out, fingernails hooking under the casing and pulling away the metal to reveal a jumbled mess of wires. ‘Shouldn’t be too hard, though,’ she said.

‘You’re _hot wiring_ the _elevator?’_

She shrugged. ‘What do you suggest we do?’

Kurt, who had spoken, pressed his lips together angrily. ‘Fine then. Do what you want. I just hope you can do it fast. The others will be waiting for us.’

‘Just be glad I’m pretty sure Noah can hot wire his own electronics. Otherwise we’d be way ahead of them. This just makes it a race.’

Expertly, she moved two wires together, winding them around each other, and then the elevator was lifting with a lurch.

‘See. Perfectly fine.’

And she shot the others a grin which they returned wanly. At least they were on their way. At least this small part of their plan was going right, if nothing else did.


	24. Chapter Twenty-Three

**Chapter Twenty-Three**

_‘My tanks were filled with gasoline and wars. I was a lead soldier. I marched against the smoke of the city… And the world closed its doors - anvils and hammers against the sleeping men - doors of the heart - cities everywhere - and little lead soldiers.’  
_ _-Giannina Braschi, ‘Empire of Dreams’_  

Noah’s hand gripped vice-like around the top of Quinn’s arm, drawing her closer to his side as the door opened with a soft ding onto Level 35. 

It was a simple enough room. It disappeared off into the distance, row upon row of boxes stacked high on pallets. On each box was a label, with an electronic barcode and a small area of print which spelled out words like _ZX-8 Ammunition_ and _Grenades._

‘Weapons storage,’ Finn whispered, unnecessarily. The storage room instilled the same fear in each of them, the fear of sheer numbers of weapons that could easily be aimed at them.

‘Is there another door?’ Noah returned, glancing around the room. At the far end was a panel of windows that spread across the edge of the building. There were no other doors except a small one to their right which had a sign saying “stairwell”.

‘Where are the others?’ Rachel asked, letting Finn guide her forward and into the main area of the weapons storage room. ‘Shouldn’t they have been right behind us in the other elevator?’ 

She turned to look at the elevator bay. The one that they had come from was slowly closing its doors and humming as it fell back down to ground level. The one on the left - Kurt and Blaine’s elevator - had stopped humming, but it didn’t open.

‘They must have got caught in it or something. It might have gotten stuck.’ Finn shot her an optimistic smile, one that she did not return.

‘Shouldn’t we help them, then?’

‘What can we do?’

‘I don’t know!’ Her voice broke anxiously, and it echoed around the large room. ‘Open the doors? Climb in and _get them?!’_

‘We’re thirty five stories up,’ Finn said calmly. ‘We have no idea what floor they’re on. And remember what Kurt said? Look after yourself. They could be caught for all we know.’

‘But what help are we _here?_ There’s nothing here but a whole bunch of weapons! We’re clearly not in the right place!’ She turned to Quinn with wide eyes. ‘Do you agree with me?’

Quinn’s voice was small when she replied. ‘I think we should keep looking. If we come across them, or we find more information, we can help. Right now, all we can do is keep going forward.’

‘Keep going forward?’ Rachel’s tone was biting. She laughed. ‘Keep going forward!’ She grabbed Finn’s hand roughly and dragged him through the piles of boxes, turning her eyes in every direction and searching for something, anything, that would give them a clue. ‘Fine! Let’s keep going forward, then!’

* * *

 

Three floors above, on Level 38, Blaine, Kurt, Santana and Tina stepped out of the elevator. It was obvious upon first sight that they were in the right place. It spoke of importance and secrecy, of a place where only the highest members of the Regime could go. 

And they were there.

It was a corridor, long and thin. Every few feet along the walls was a door. Each was labelled with a simple number above the door, written on a brass plaque. And then at the end of the corridor, made from a heavier wood than the others, was a big door, whose plaque covered most of the upper part of the door itself. It said _“Private: Do Not Enter”._

‘This is it,’ Blaine whispered to Kurt. ‘This is where it all ends.’

‘I know. Where are the others?’

‘They must be on a different floor or something. The elevator must have gotten stuck.’

‘Should we find them?’

Blaine shook his head. ‘No. This is more important. We can go ahead, and then they can back us up if they find us. This is what we came to do, Kurt.’

‘I love you,’ Kurt whispered.

Blaine’s reply was a terse nod.

‘Let’s do this.’

And together, the four of them - Kurt, Blaine, Santana and Tina - stepped towards the door at the end of the long corridor. 

* * *

 

‘Send the order,’ the man at the head of the tactical room said, turning and beginning to pace from one side of the carpeted floor to the other.

‘Sending, sir.’

‘And ensure that the group on Level 38 is made a priority. We don’t want them getting anywhere near the Leader. The others are far enough away to be of no risk.’

A short man in the front row, whose ears were too large for his head, held a hand up. ‘Sir, they could use the weapons in the store room against us if we don’t get to them first.’

The head Officer turned angrily. ‘That’s why men are sent after them,’ he snarled. ‘But I want more people on the group at Level 38. They may be weaponless, but they’re much closer to their goal.’

A few nods circled the room, cautious and wary.

‘Send the order!’

And buttons began being pressed furiously.

In a room much lower in the building, men who had been sitting in waiting, their guns on their shoulders, were ordered to stand. Together, they moved as one into the stairwells and elevators, heading upwards towards the teenagers above them.

* * *

 

‘I told you there was nothing here!’ Rachel said angrily, slamming her closed fist into one of the heavy boxes that filled the room. It collided against something metal within that dug into her knuckles and stung. ‘Ow!’

‘Careful, Rach,’ Finn said gently, grabbing her hand between his large ones and pulling it to his lips to press a gentle kiss against it.

‘Stop it,’ she hissed and snatched her hand back. ‘You’re being-’

‘What? Supportive? Trying to be helpful?’

She frowned at him but said nothing more, stepping between two large crates to reach into one and pull out a clip of bullets that looked like they belonged in a machine gun. ‘Maybe we could use these to-’

‘Put your hands up!’ The voice interrupting her came from the stairwell to their right. Through it they could see the crowd of men in black, guns held to their shoulders and aimed right at them.

Slowly and hesitantly, Rachel raised her hands. Beside her, Finn did the same, and on the other side of the pallet of boxes, Noah and Quinn also gave in to the Officers’ demands.

‘That’s right,’ the man in the front called out. He was clearly the leader of the small platoon. ‘Come away with us slowly, and you won’t get hurt. We have you surrounded.’

* * *

 

‘Hold your hands up! We have you surrounded!’

The long corridor echoed the voice in circles, bringing it back to Blaine’s ears in a way that terrified him. It sounded like they were coming from all sides, that every door in the corridor was opening up and they were spilling out, cornering them.

But they were only coming from the elevator, and he said the only thing he could think of to say.

‘Run!’

He grabbed Kurt’s hand, tugging him along the corridor, but his hand was sweating and his grip slipped. He stumbled, and suddenly he was too far ahead and he heard the high pitched squeal of pain that came from Kurt’s mouth as the Officer hit him in his wounded shoulder, breaking the stitches and bringing the blood to the surface again.

Kurt crumpled, clutching his arm in pain and Blaine turned back to watch him fall. It seemed to happen in slow motion, tumbling and sliding, and Blaine ran, tripping in his anxiety to get there and to protect him. He had no weapons, no way of defending himself, but he had to do something. He had to do something for Kurt.

* * *

 

Behind the door at the end of the corridor, the one that read _“Do Not Enter”,_ Terrence Drey sat calmly at his desk. He was a solid man, portly, with thin gray hair and a sun-spot marked face. It was the kind of face that spoke of years of experience, of control.

Inside his desk, on hinges that could obscure it from view at the shortest notice, was a computer screen. On it, he watched the progress of the teenagers through his outer sanctum, yelling voicelessly. He smiled. For the first time, he could prove the usefulness of the sound-proof walls and door.

With a slow hand, he reached for the old-fashioned microphone that sat beside him, a personal choice.

‘Bring him to me,’ he said, soft and calculated. ‘The younger one. With the curly hair. Take him to the lowest dungeon, and then block the use of all lifts except for my personal one.’

The call rang out, echoing through every floor of the building and talking to every man and woman present at that point in time.

The Officers in the corridor looked up at the video cameras as if asking a question, and then they pounced, leaving the older boy on the floor with his injured arm and gripping the other three teenagers with strong arms. They tied the girls together and then took the boy, struggling, to the elevator.

With an amused smile, Terrence Drey stepped to his personal elevator and caught a lift to the very lowest floor in the building.


	25. Chapter Twenty-Four

**Chapter Twenty-Four**

_‘The strong will resist and the weak will saying anything to end the pain.’  
_ _-Ulpian_

_‘No!’_

Kurt’s voice broke on the word, but he couldn’t see. He could only feel the pressure of Blaine’s arms wrapping around his shoulders, and then they were gone. The pain was blinding, red and hot behind his eyelids, and finally he managed to draw his eyes open and he could see the men with their arms around Blaine’s chest, holding his arms behind his back. They were dragging him backwards towards the elevator and Kurt made to stand, reaching out to pull him back, as if his arms could cross that great distance.

His legs gave way and he stumbled again, knocking his shoulder into the wall. Another flash of pain blazed behind his eyes.

‘Blaine!’

_‘Kurt!’_

His voice was fading away, being taken away from Kurt as the elevator doors closed on Blaine and the Officers. He was gone and they were taking him, and there was nothing Kurt could do about. 

He stumbled forward, using the wall for support as he made his way to the door, hitting it with his good arm in loud, thumping blows.

‘It’s useless,’ a voice behind him said and he turned to see Santana, tied to Tina on the floor. Their wrists were bound tightly together, and then to each other, and the fight had gone out of them now that the Officers were gone.

‘I have to do _something,’_ Kurt pleaded.

‘The first door on the left,’ Santana said quickly. ‘It’s a stairwell. Head down that way. They’re taking Blaine to the lowest levels, that’s what the voice on the loudspeaker said. Find him, don’t just pound at that door.’

He bit his lip, evaluating the door Santana had nodded towards. ‘Okay,’ he whispered. ‘Okay.’ He shot them a glance, but Santana only returned it with a look of steel.

‘Go. We’ll be fine.’

And he went, gripping the wound in his arm tightly with his spare hand to staunch the blood that was flowing freely again. He’d almost forgotten it was there.

* * *

 

‘Well, hello.’ The voice was calm, calculated, and it made Blaine shiver subconsciously against the arms of the man holding him and pushing him into the room. He grit his teeth and frowned, straining against the arms.

‘I said “hello”,’ the voice said. 

‘Hi,’ Blaine hissed, biting back a retort.

‘Better.’ He watched as the man moved across the room, motioning with one hand to a chair he had sat down in front of a fire place. It didn’t seem much like a dungeon, despite what the voice on the loudspeaker - this man’s voice - had said. It seemed instead like a posh living room, with a comfortable looking sofa at one side, and a fireplace at the other. Paintings lined the walls, and they looked real, not reproductions. 

And in front of the fireplace was the chair. 

It was facing the sofa, and Blaine had a feeling it was meant to be the evening entertainment. _He_ was meant to be the entertainment.

‘Sit,’ the man said, and the Officer holding Blaine shoved him roughly onto the seat. 

‘Who are you?’ he asked as the Officer moved away.

The man considered him for a moment and then spoke, as calm as ever. ‘I am Terrence Drey. I am the leader of this operation.’

The leader. It made sense to Blaine, like cogs clicking into place in his brain. He had to ask though. ‘Why-?’

‘Do I have two names?’ Terrence Drey continued for him. ‘Do you really think serial numbers were around before the Regime? No, that’s an invention of mine. It limits the idea of a family unit, removes the common link between members of a family. Before my regime, your second name was your family name. It came from your father, who got it from his father. A woman always took their husbands name when they married.’ He smiled. ‘My father gave me the name Drey.’

Blaine couldn’t help himself. He knew he shouldn’t be speaking, that he should be silent, if only to not irritate the man in front of him, who held so much control over ever situation he found himself in. But he couldn’t stop his tongue from moving.

‘So, what made you start the Reg-’

‘Stop.’ The voice was commanding and still calm, but it was beginning to rise in pitch, as if his control was slowly breaking. ‘Question time is over. Now it’s my turn.’ He stepped behind Blaine, moving towards the fireplace. ‘What’s your name?’

‘Blaine,’ he said gruffly.

‘Blaine.’ Terrence Drey rolled it around his tongue as if tasting it, trying it on for size. ‘You’re gay,’ he said after a pause. ‘Aren’t you, Blaine?’

‘I don’t see how it’s any of your business-’

‘I’ll take that as a yes.’

‘I don’t see how it’s any of your-’

‘ _Behave!’_ Finally, tension was making it’s way into the man’s voice, curling around his vocal chords.  ‘I know this is so very cliche,’ he said. his clipped and polished again. He reached beside the fireplace, out of Blaine’s line of vision. ‘But I do love theatricality, and I’ve wanted to do this for so long.’ It was a poker in his hands, long and metal. It looked like it could inflict pain simply by hitting against. He dipped the poker into the fireplace behind Blaine, twirling it loosely in his wrist to evenly heat each edge. The grin that had previously stretched across his face was taut with anger. ‘Everyone is just too… _damn… obedient.’_

And he brought the poker around, spinning it swiftly through the air.

* * *

 

At each corner, his shoulder hit the wall, grabbing at skin and nerves and sending blinding jolts of pain through his arm and his body. But it meant nothing. Not to Kurt as he ran blindly down the stairwell. His hands scrabbled at the doors he passed, his head ducking inside to check, if only for a second, whether Blaine was there.

He had to be somewhere. There had to be a way to get to him. He couldn’t give up.

His feet pounded on the cement stairs as he ran, uneven, lumbered steps. His heart pounded in his chest, his voice rasped roughly through his throat. He was wounded and his body screamed at him to stop exerting itself, to rest and to repair itself before heading back into the attack.

But it was _Blaine,_ and all he could think of was finding him and making him safe.

He ran faster.

* * *

 

‘You’re little boyfriend is dead.’ Terrence Drey pressed the poker into the soft flesh at the top of Blaine’s arm, where arm met shoulder. It burned, hissing and bringing up acrid smoke, but it was hot enough to cauterize, to stop the bleeding.

Blaine coughed, spluttering from the stench of it and unable to breathe from the pain. It was too much. Too much pain and too much numb and the nerve endings were screaming.

‘He can’t be,’ Blaine moaned, voice high pitched and deep at once, breaking between the two. It sounded weak, even to his own ears.

Terrence Drey pulled the poker away, holding it into the fire again and twirling it. ‘Didn’t you see the hit he sustained from my Officer? The wound in his shoulder was bleeding profusely. That much blood loss and no one will survive.’

‘He can’t be-’

‘He _can._ He’s dead. That’s all that matters. He’s not coming to save you.’

‘The others-’

‘The others are held by my Officers at this moment. They’re not getting anywhere near here to save you. You’re completely at my mercy now.’

Blaine could feel the tears pricking behind his eyes. If he closed them, he could see the image of Kurt behind his eyelids, blood seeping from his wound. But he was never _dead._ He couldn’t die. Blaine would be able to feel it.

‘I- If Kurt died,’ he began, feeling his voice shake. ‘I would _know.’_

Terrence Drey smiled, a horrible knowing smile. ‘You think you have a connection, do you? Some kind of cosmic belief in each other? Do you think that you could read his thoughts if you tried hard enough?’ He laughed, short and sharp. ‘You’re an idiot child, and that is all you are.’

‘But I _love_ him!’

The laugh that fell from Terrence Drey’s lips was the loudest yet. It echoed around the small room - Blaine was beginning to refer to it in his mind as a torture chamber - belittling him and making him feel worthless. ‘Well, maybe you don’t love him enough. Maybe that’s why you can feel it. You’ve stopped loving him, and the connection has broken.’

He grinned an evil smile, almost laughing at his own words, but it made sense to Blaine. It fitted together like simple puzzle pieces. He had been rude to Kurt. He’d pushed him away because he didn’t want to lose him, especially after he’d been shot. He hadn’t said ‘I love you’. And he’d done it on _purpose._

‘You’re-’ he whispered. ‘You’re right.’

And Terrence Drey smiled at him. ‘Of course I am.’


	26. Chapter Twenty-Five

**Chapter Twenty-Five**

_‘Mysterious love, uncertain treasure,  
_ _Hast thou more of pain or pleasure!  
_ _Endless torments dwell about thee:  
_ _Yet who would live, and live without thee!’  
_ _-Joseph Addison, ‘Rosamund’_  

Floors fell away beneath his pounding feet. He barely stopped for breath at each Level, opening the door and peering inside before setting off again. The pain in his shoulder was numb, pounding, but faded to the background of his mind, simply a dull ache that he wished would go away, if only to make finding Blaine easier.

He must be close, he determined, glancing out the wide window that marked the start of a new floor along the stairwell. He could see the other buildings around him, and the tarmac of the road outside. He was at ground level, and they couldn’t be much lower. Blaine would be here, somewhere. Somewhere soon.

And then he found it. Suddenly, the stairwell didn’t go any further. It stopped at a corridor, much like the corridor on Level 38. It spread out in front of him, but there was only one door at the end of it, closed against him. 

‘Blaine!’ He ran towards it, his fists hitting the heavy door. He banged once, twice, with as much energy as he had. The hits echoed within the corridor, bouncing around his ears. ‘ _Blaine!’_

‘Kurt!’ It was a broken whine, hissed in pain, but he could hear it and it was coming from Blaine’s lip. Within the room, he was in pain. ‘ _He can’t be dead! I don’t want it to be true! I love him! I love him!’_

‘Blaine!’ Kurt called in horror, banging his fists against the wall with more energy more figure. ‘I’m here! I’m here, Blaine! _Blaine!’_

But the wall was too thick. Blaine couldn’t hear him.

* * *

 

Much higher in the building, but moving along the same stairwell that Kurt had taken, Santana and Tina searched. They were searching for Kurt and Blaine, but they were also searching for the others. It had seemed like forever ago that they had split into their separate elevators, but it couldn’t have been more than ten or fifteen minutes.

Santana was in front, guiding the way down the stairs with her hand on the rail to steady herself as she ran. At each level they would pause, opening the door and peering inside, perhaps stepping into the room itself if it seemed empty or deserted. 

It wasn’t long before they came across the others. They were in a storage room, filled with weapons, and the others were tied in the centre of the room, the Finn and Noah to each other, and Quinn and Rachel together. There were no Officers there to guard them. Santana and Tina could only assume they had left, finding the four teenagers no real threat now that they were tied up, much as they had believed the two of them to be no threat.

But they had been a threat, they were soon to realise. Because it had taken them only seconds once Kurt had left the room, to use their similar heights and weights to counterbalance each other and stand up. And after they were standing, it was only a matter of wriggling until they could get their hands free. The Officers hadn’t done a good job with the knots.

Santana moved towards the others, reaching to untie their knots, but Tina stayed in the entrance, eyeing a box filled with guns.

‘I’m going to help Kurt,’ she said softly, reaching from the box. From it, she drew a hand pistol, and slipped it into her pocket along with a live round of ammunition from a neighbouring box. Santana watched her with wide eyes.

‘He’s going to need someone to help him if the leader of the Regime has him,’ Tina said calmly. ‘When you get them free, I’ll be downstairs.’

And she turned, slipping back out into stairwell.

Santana breathed a sigh of relief. ‘For a second there, I thought we were goners. I’ve never quite trusted her.’

Quinn shot her a wry smile. ‘No one has. Maybe she’s better than any of us ever gave her credit for.’

* * *

 

‘What is your obsession with me?’ Blaine growled, wincing as the movement of his jaw pulled at the burned and cauterized skin at his shoulder and throat. Terrence Drey watched him with his calm and calculating eyes, but something flashed behind them, a light that glimmered and thought, that seemed to look beyond Blaine, and beyond the hot poker in his hand. ‘Why do you care if I’m gay? Why do you care if I’m in love or not?’

Blaine watched as the man held the poker tighter, squeezing it in a deadly grip, and then he suddenly ducked forward, pressing it into the skin just above Blaine’s knee. He howled in pain, raising the limb reflexively and bringing it into further contain with the poker. After a few seconds it was pulled away, but the anger still burned behind the eyes of Terrence Drey.

‘You’d do well to respect me, boy,’ he hissed angrily. ‘Don’t think you have any control in this situation.’

Blaine laughed through the pain. ‘You think I want control? What I want is _no_ control. I want freedom. I want this damn regime to be gone. No person should have control over another. Not even me, and especially not you.’ 

‘Shut your mouth, boy!’

‘Is that what it is?’ he asked, watching the fire behind the man’s eyes, judging it and weighing it up and pressing it at it’s weaknesses with manic delight. ‘The Regime gives you the control that you desperate seek, that mommy wouldn’t give you when you were a little boy?’ He knew it was suicide. It was asking for anger and for trouble, but maybe it could buy him time, and maybe it could unlock the calm exterior of this man and truly find out what was inside.

‘You understand nothing!’

‘Hmm, but why me? Why is it that you picked me? You could have tortured any of them. Kurt was already injured, he had somewhere easy for you to start? Yet you picked me. What do I have that’s special?’

‘Stop! Stop it!’

‘Stop what? Telling you how much of a child you for all of this? How stupid you are to think that simply by control every movement and every person and limiting their ability to love and be loved by whoever they want, you can get the control you crave? Because no one can truly be under your control. Everyone has their own wants and needs, and nothing you do or say can change that. All you can do is make people feel contained. And no one wants to be con-’

He broke off as the poker was pressed against his skin. It was cooling down. Terrence Drey was losing focus, heating the poker less often, if at all. The hard, red-hot pain was lessening, and now the pain was a simple burn, but he could feel it blister. It was no longer hot enough to seal the skin. 

‘Everyone wants to be controlled! Everyone wants to be told how to live their life! That is what love is!’

‘No,’ Blaine said, gritting his teeth. ‘It’s not. It’s about trusting someone enough that they will protect you and do anything for you. It’s about being willing to do anything for them. It’s about making them happy when they’re having a bad day, and showing them how much they mean to you by the little things. It’s about-’

_‘Stop!’_

Blaine fell silent, biting his lip. The man looked as if he were about to continue, and he held his tongue, waiting.

‘You don’t _understand._ You’re young and selfish. You think you’ve fallen in love with this boy you’ve known for maybe a year. You think all your feelings are real but they’re _not._ They’re wrong, and sooner or later you will learn that he doesn’t love you back. That no boy can love another boy like you think you love him.’

Blaine watched, horrified. ‘What _happened_ to you?’ he asked. ‘What makes you think that way?’

‘I-’ He pressed the piece of metal against Blaine’s skin again, but he hardly felt it. He was staring at the man with such attention that the pain seemed to fade into the background.

‘You’re gay, aren’t you?’

‘What?’

‘You’re gay. That’s what this is about. You loved someone who was straight, and you can’t accept the fact that the person you love doesn’t love you back. And so you started this whole Regime to keep control. If you couldn’t have happiness, no one would. Am I right?’

‘I-’ Terrence Drey stuttered on the words, thrown for a loop. ‘I-’

‘Am I right?’

* * *

 

Outside, in the corridor, Kurt’s fists continued to pound, colliding again and again with the heavy door. 

‘Blaine!’ he called out desperately. He could no longer hear his screams and pleas, and it felt like a bad sign. Something had happened to him. He could no longer call out. ‘ _Blaine!’_


	27. Chapter Twenty-Six

**Chapter Twenty-Six**

_‘Our time is fixed, and all our days are number’d;  
_ _How long, how short, we know not: - this we know,  
_ _Duty requires we calmly wait the summons,  
_ _Nor dare to stir till Heaven shall give permission.’  
_ _-Robert Blair, ‘The Grave’_

‘No!’ 

The voice that came from Terrence Drey’s throat was broken, angry, and with only that, it was confirmed for Blaine. He may not know the details, but everything he had said was true. He had figured him out, unravelled the reason behind the Regime. 

And it made him feel tired. He still had no idea what he could do to get out of it.

The poker was pressed to him again, this time to the soft skin of his upper thigh, and he hissed, but held back the screams that had previously ripped from his throat. ‘You can’t hurt me anymore,’ he breathed. ‘I understand you.’

And then he heard it.

‘Blaine!’ and a series of thuds. 

He turned to Terrence Drey. ‘You said-’

‘I know what he said,’ he replied gruffly.

‘But-’ Blaine broke off, turning towards the door. ‘Kurt! Kurt! I love you! God, I love you!’ And the words seemed to fall from his mouth without any control from his brain. He’d known Kurt wasn’t dead. He still loved him. He still loved him. ‘ _I’m sorry!’_ he called out, as loud as his vocal chords would let him. ‘I love you!’

And then he paused, listening. There was another thump of skin against the door and then, ‘Frickin _hell,_ Blaine, I love you, too!’

He grinned, and he couldn’t contain it. It spread across his face, and when he looked at Terrence Drey, he felt like, for the first time since he was placed in that stupid room, that he truly had the upper hand.

The man watched him carefully, observing him. His broad smile dimmed slightly under that gaze but it was no longer angry. It was interested, cool again. The cover had slipped back over them.

‘Hmm,’ Terrence Drey murmured, rolling the sound around his tongue. And then he was dropping the poker onto the floor beside the fireplace, kicking it away with one leather boot. A hand reached behind Blaine, fiddling with the knots that held him to the chair, and then he was free. 

Blaine stood up quickly, turning and checking that he wasn’t being tricked. But Terrence Drey was already stepping towards the door, pulling a key from his pocket. He unlocked it and Kurt fell through, rushing without preamble towards Blaine. His arms wrapped around his throat, holding him tighter and Blaine winced. He had pressed against the burn.

‘ _Kurt,’_ he hissed roughly.

‘Oh, God.’ Kurt pulled away, taking in the injuries. ‘Oh, _Blaine.’_ He pressed his fingers delicately against the skin around the wound, eyeing it with a worried expression.

Over his shoulder, Blaine watched Terrence Drey. He moved with the care of a scientist examining his latest specimen. Blaine had thought he had the upper hand in this conversation, but now he was eyeing him like an interesting study and he felt threatened. 

‘What are you looking at?’ Blaine asked roughly and Kurt turned, dropping his hands from Blaine’s neck and watching the leader of the Regime.

‘Just the two of you. So very interesting.’

Blaine’s gaze moved between Kurt and the man in front of him, judging the situation. ‘Kurt,’ he said finally. ‘Meet Terrence Drey. He’s the leader of the Regime.’

Kurt turned to face the man, his jaw dropping slightly. 

‘He-’ 

Blaine nodded. ‘This is him.’

Kurt could only stare. The man that their whole plan had swung on was the one who had Blaine, who had burned holes into his skin. He had seemed just a figurehead from the safety of the hotel. He had thought he would be old, frail, or at least weak. 

And he was old, but in no way was he frail. He was cunning, and powerful, and meticulous.

And Kurt was suddenly more afraid than he had ever been before. More afraid than when the bullet hit him. More afraid than when he had heard Blaine’s screams.

This man made him wish he had never begun this idea of going against the regime.

‘Kurt,’ Blaine whispered into his ear. ‘Don’t be scared of him. He’d just a big bully.’

‘What?’

‘He’s like us, Kurt. He is just like you and me, except he didn’t have a happy ending.’

Kurt turned his head slightly. ‘What do you mean?’

‘He,’ Blaine hesitated, biting his lip. ‘Kurt, he’s gay.’

* * *

 

Tina slid the final step of the stairwell, coming to a halt at the entrance to the corridor. She could see the door at the end, held open. And on her side of the door, a man she recognised. 

His left hand gripped the door, holding it ajar, and his right hand was held to his hip, gripping the gun that rest there.

Slowly, she stepped closer with light and silent footsteps. He couldn’t hear her. Not when the gun was in his hand.

She stepped closer.

* * *

 

‘He’s-?’

‘Yes.’ The voice came in a curt and clipped reply and Kurt realised it was coming from Terrence Drey himself. His eyes were clouded and dark, the sense of control over his own emotions quickly dropping.

‘Then you should _understand!’_ Kurt said desperately. ‘Don’t you get it? Don’t you _want_ to be able to love whoever you want?’

‘Kurt, no,’ Blaine whispered.

‘Of course I understand.’ The man stepped closer. ‘That is why the Regime is in place. As your little boyfriend so stunningly deduced, I set this up so that _no one_ could be happy. Why should people like you be able to live happily if I cannot!’ His voice rose, echoing around the room in anger.

‘How do you know you can’t,’ Kurt returned, ‘if you’ve never given anyone a chance?’

‘I gave him enough chances! But all he wanted was the cheerleader in her short, ugly _skirt!’_

He stared up at him, watching sadly. ‘Just because one guy doesn’t love you back doesn’t mean you can be loved by anyone.’ He pursed his lips together. ‘Did you know, before I met Blaine, I had a crush on my stepbrother, Finn? And he is as straight as they come.’ He gripped Blaine’s arm tightly, squeezing. ‘But when I met Blaine, it was completely different. It wasn’t about infatuation, or physical attraction, even though I don’t deny I don’t find him attractive.’ A small smile curled his lips. ‘It was about a mutual understanding. We were both the kind of people that couldn’t be who we wanted to be outside our own homes.’

Terrence Drey watched him with wide eyes. There was something changing there, thinking and mulling over his words. All that Blaine had said had done nothing for him, but these simple words, falling from Kurt’s lips, were changing the way he looked at the world. Kurt could see it happen.

‘You would have found someone,’ he said softly. ‘And he would have loved you just like you would have loved him.’ He rolled his tongue around his mouth. ‘Let people like us be happy. Let boys who were just like you growing up be _allowed_ to find happiness. Let them be _allowed_ to show the person who they are inside to the world, instead of covering it all up and hiding it inside.’

‘I- I can’t-’

‘You _can,’_ Kurt said. ‘It would be easy. Just tell them that you-’

And then a sound rang out, like the crack of a whip.

It was a shot.


	28. Chapter Twenty-Seven

**Chapter Twenty-Seven**

_‘Murder begins where self-defense ends.’  
_ _-Georg Buchner, ‘Dantons Tod’_

He fell. Terrence Drey fell undramatically, like an ugly sack of potatoes, collapsing on itself. The blood spread across his chest, settling on the ground around him, pooling and spreading. It was a clean shot through his heart.

‘Finally.’ The voice that spoke was slow, each word well thought out. 

Kurt and Blaine turned to the door to face the man. The gun was held loosely in his hand, now by his side, and his lips were curved into a mean smile. 

‘Finally, I can take this over. I can take my rightful place at the top of this regime.’ He slipped the gun into his pocket, stepping towards Kurt and Blaine and around the fallen body of Terrence Drey. ‘He was weak,’ he said. ‘As soon as I saw him with you I knew would give in unless he was stopped. He would let the Regime fall, and you win. And you’re just teenagers!’ He laughed cruelly. ‘He deserved what happened to him.’

‘How can you think like that?’ Kurt yelled out. He moved to step towards the man, but Blaine’s hands caught his arms, holding him in place. ‘Are you a psychopath?’

‘I’m not insane. I just know what I want.’

The man stepped closer and Blaine pulled Kurt back, the pair of them almost tripping over as they scurried to get out of his way. They had to move. They had to escape him. He had shot one man, and he could easily shoot again. 

Another shot rang out.

And Tina stood in the doorway, holding the gun as tears streamed down her face.

‘ _Dad.’_


	29. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

_‘We hold these truths to be sacred and undeniable; that all men are created equal and independent, that from that equal creation they derive rights inherent and inalienable, among which are the preservation of life, and liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.’  
_ _-Thomas Jefferson_

Every story has a happy ending, or so the old tales go. It encourages us to believe in love, perseverance, and determination, above all other things. 

But those eight teenagers never received their happy ending. Not really. The happy ending would come later, when the idea of the Regime was simply a distant memory, built in the minds of youth by the stories told to them by their grandparents. A story that is told by those whose own minds are too clouded with age to ever get the details right. This is when the happy ending of this tale occurs, not as the eight teenagers grew older and were able to pursue their lives and dreams. Not when they grew old and realised they had actually made a difference in the world.

No, it didn’t come until they were long gone, only their legacy remaining in the hearts of those who truly understood the sacrifice, and those few became quickly numbered.

That is not to say that their lives were unhappy. No, after the Regime, after all that they had done was over, their lives because full and whole. 

Rachel and Finn were married in a small church just out of New York. The place held bad memories for them, but it was also a place of dreaming, the first place where the change from Regime to freedom really took place. And so it was there that they exchanged rings, and picked for themselves a last name, that they would share. They had been told of last names, of course, from the old stories, and even Terrence Drey himself. But never had they possessed one and so, faced with the opportunity, neither was sure what to decide. 

Finn was the one who settled it, his eyes falling upon the Hudson river, and declaring for the whole service - their friends, family - to hear, that he and Rachel would be then on known as Rachel and Finn Hudson. And it was written down, and it became official, and although it took them both some time to get used to, as they got older, they began to forget their serial numbers, forget the way they had been labelled.

Rachel had a daughter, and called her Nadia. She grew up without fear of anything but bad grades and having her heart broken by the boy down the road. She was a symbol for Rachel of the life that she had longed to lead as a girl, what she wished she could have had.

Her second child became not part of her own family, but to Kurt and Blaine’s. The two had married also, not long after Rachel and Finn, but in their home state of Ohio. New York was beautiful, but for them it had began there, and the Regime had seemed to hold it’s strongest reign over them. It felt good to turn it in their faces, to laugh at them and prove to their neighbors and friends from the past that love between them was possible, could in fact be desired.

They had invited only a few people, but on the day itself, many more arrived, including Blaine’s friend Jeff, from Dalton. His hand was entwined around another man’s, someone who Blaine also recognized. Nick. They had been the closest of friends at school, closer than anyone, but it still came as a surprise to Blaine. Jeff had been a strong believer in not pushing boundaries, of obeying by the rules.

But after the wedding, they had come up to Kurt and Blaine, only two words being spoken. ‘Thank you.’

And Blaine had nodded in understanding.

But so it was that Rachel’s second child, a boy with dark curly hair, so much like Blaine’s, fell into their family. It had been a wish of theirs, a dream they could not complete on their own, and although Rachel could be and had always been bossy and loud, she also had grown up with two gay dads, and it seemed fitting that she should be the one to carry their child.

They named him Leo, for the strength of a lion, and he grew into a young man who was respected by his peers despite the fact that he had two gay dads. He was close to Nadia too, more than cousins, but not quite siblings, and despite the fact that like any kids, they fought and argued, they came through everything stronger. Even into old age, they would look to each other for guidance.

Santana and Brittany too, grew old together. They had their rough patches, and it took a good few years before either could draw together the courage to admit they were wrong, that perhaps they should just forget the past and put it behind them. They still fought like they were worst enemies, but in a way that was what made them closer. Their differences had always brought them together, dark and light, blonde and brunette. And they somehow worked.

For the month after they arrived back home in Lima, Quinn and Noah worked to rebuild her mother’s house, to fix what was broken and to make it livable again. For that time, Beth stayed with Shelby, and woman and child became close, closer than almost anybody Beth had ever met, except perhaps the relationship between herself and her own mother.

But when Quinn turned up on Shelby’s doorstep, asking for her daughter back, she was handed over in silence, no tears falling until the dark haired woman closed the door. And then she cried for days.

And Tina. Poor Tina, whose whole family unit fell apart, was left alone. She lived for some time with Quinn and Noah, staying in their guest bedroom and looking after Beth when they went out. But as the years got on and Beth became older, more independent, she found the space was needed, and she left late one night, never to return to the house again. 

She found her own place, just outside of Westerville, boarding with a boy a year older than her, the same age as Finn and Kurt and Noah and Quinn and Rachel. His name was Mike, and from the onset, their first meeting on the front porch, he had fallen in love with her. 

But for all of their lives, Kurt, Blaine, Rachel, Finn, Noah, Quinn, Tina and Santana were haunted by their pasts. They were driven into nightmares, and awoke hot and sweaty in the middle of the night with shaking limbs and tears in their eyes. The doctors called it post-traumatic stress disorder, and diagnosed it in each of them, claiming their time in New York had changed them forever, but there had never been recorded cases in anyone as young as them. And it was impossible to know when the dreams would fade, or if they ever would.


End file.
